Clan and Conviction (Clan Beginnings)

by Tracy St. John

  He clutched Matara Lis, waiting to live or die as blaster shots raged close by. The air shook with the pounding sounds.

  An instant later, silence reigned but for the piercing ringing in his ears. Gelan slowly raised his head, noting Matara Lis looking up at him with wide eyes, her face and all the rest of her intact. A big pair of boots stood on either side of them, and he looked up to see Wynhod looming huge over their heads, his blaster still pointed where Huk had sat. Gelan looked over his shoulder at the spot. The raw, dripping mess left bore no resemblance to a man. The enforcement squad had pretty much disintegrated the Nobek.

  Gelan slowly rose off the Matara, trying hard not to feel her smaller body against his. He could barely hear himself in the wake of all the blaster fire, though he thought sure he probably shouted. “Are you all right, Matara?”

  She squinted at him. He had to read her lips to know what she said. “I’m okay, but I can’t hear.”

  Forming his words carefully so Lis would understand, he said, “Me neither. Close range blaster fire does that. Your hearing will return.”

  She nodded, and Gelan stood. He stepped back as her clan converged on her, touching and exclaiming in voices he could barely make out.

  Enforcers surrounded them, carefully ushering Gelan to one side so he wouldn’t step in a puddle of Huk. Standing, he could now see the Delir henchman’s forearms and hands as well as lower legs and feet were still intact. Nasty. Gelan fought not to smile at a well-deserved fate.

  He called out, “Bring in the emergency crews to check on Matara Lis. Send Forensics in.”

  “We got it,” Wynhod said, drawing near and pulling Gelan further away from the rest with a steady arm. His voice was distant, but it was there.

  The enforcer looked him over carefully and shook his head. “You are the luckiest man I know. Huk turned his blaster on you when you went for the Matara. You were only inches away and he got off one shot, but he was looking at us, so his aim was off. If he’d pulled the trigger again—” Wynhod paused and shook his head. “He was fast, but I was faster.”

  “For which I am very grateful.” Gelan’s adrenaline still pumped like mad. He realized he felt a little high from it. He grinned at Wynhod. “Let’s do that again. Soon.”

  Wynhod grinned back. In Gelan’s excited state, the enforcer’s fierce face was too stunning to not get the Dramok hard. The Nobek noticed that part too and laughed. “Yeah, you’re exactly what I’ve suspected all along.”

  “What would that be?”

  Wynhod considered for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “My Dramok. Ask me officially. I want us to do this right.”

  Gelan’s brows rose. “In the middle of blood and bedlam?” He motioned towards the splattered remains of Nobek Huk.

  Wynhod nodded. “It seems appropriate for a pair like us. Ask, or I’ll beat it out of you.”

  Gelan snorted. “Good luck with that. I am feeling generous, given how I’m still alive by your hand, however. Wynhod, will you be my clan Nobek?”

  “Yes, Dramok Gelan. I formally accept your offer to clan.”

  Chapter 15

  Gelan and Wynhod raised glasses of bohut to one another, saluting their official status as clanmates as the sun slowly sank between the surrounding mountains. The gathered guests did so as well. They shouted a chorus of “Drink well. Live well.”

  With that toast, cups of liquor were downed and the latest round of applause swelled. No doubt everyone was ready to get to the party portion of the day, but the guests who had attended the outdoor clanning ceremony were still sober and on their best behavior. For this last moment, the large and carefully tended garden at the base of the mountain where Gelan and Wynhod lived remained a place of quiet observance.

  The gathered guests waited with patient politeness as Wynhod hugged Gelan’s mother Asilef and bowed to her clanmates. Then Gelan bowed to Wynhod’s surviving parents, Dramok Leva and Imdiko Vanli. He nodded to their guest, Nobek Jabil. He’d felt some concern over how Wynhod would feel about his fathers bringing their new paramour to the ceremony, but the stoic Nobek had shrugged it off.

  “They’ve been without a Nobek for many years now. I admit, I have worried for them since I moved away. It’s good to know they have someone from my breed around to look after things,” he’d said after receiving the request. Then he added in typical Wynhod style, “Jabil had better do well by them or his hide will hang on my private room’s wall.”

  In the here and now, there was only laughter and cheer. Gelan’s father Dramok Kehah warned his new clanmate, “You’ve done it now, Wynhod. You’re stuck with him.”

  Wynhod blinked several times. “What? Wait, the drugs are wearing off. What have I done? I clanned who?” He looked at Gelan, his face comical with pretended shock.

  That earned a great deal of laughter all around. Gelan’s parents had come to accept the clanning well before the ceremony, especially when they’d heard how Wynhod had saved Gelan’s life from Nobek Huk. As the Dramok had suspected she would, his mother had made all the arrangements for the ceremony and the reception afterward.

  Gelan couldn’t help the smile that wouldn’t leave his face. Wynhod was his partner, in work and in life. While he wasn’t prone to deep self-analysis, Gelan knew instinctively that something hollow within him had been filled. Being with Wynhod felt like recovering a missing part of himself. He had no doubt they would be happy together for as long as they both drew breath.

  His mother made shooing motions at the guests, trying to get them to go to the long tables set with trays of food and drink. “Everyone, eat before everything melts in this heat. Honestly, Gelan, why we had to do this in the middle of summer—”

  “I had already put in for the vacation time, and I’m not due for my next leave for another nine months.”

  “Well, I’m sure your supervisor would have let you move it to a more seasonable time of year.”

  Gelan noted how Utta suddenly headed for the food table, the elder Dramok ducking a little to avoid Matara Asilef’s searching gaze as he went. Gelan guessed his boss knew a thing or two about displeased mothers.

  Wynhod’s eyes widened as he saw the crowd gathering around the mostly catered dishes. “Hey! Just a moment, everyone. I get the first helping of chafga casserole.” Before he dashed off to claim his favorite dish, one of half a dozen Asilef had prepared herself, he asked her, “So, how often do we get to come over for dinner?”

  Gelan deadpanned, “He clanned me for your cooking, my mother.”

  Wynhod nodded. “It’s well worth the sacrifice.”

  They ate and drank, and despite Asilef’s concerns, no one complained about the temperature. The encroaching night brought cooling breezes anyway, taking out the summer swelter.

  Exterior lights came on as the sky grew darker. Wynhod, many of the other Nobeks, and some Dramoks indulged in the accuracy, speed, and strength games that had been set up to entertain the more rough-and-tumble members of the crowd. Everywhere Gelan looked during the hours of the party, he saw laughter and happiness.

  At one point he found a moment to step away. He took a breath, grateful for a few seconds to not talk to wellwishers. He’d also spent a large portion of his time fielding his mother’s concerns that she hadn’t ordered enough food and drink. Far into the party, no one seemed in any hurry to quit the festivities over a little thing like the late hour. The food ran low, but plenty of alcohol remained, so Gelan was sure everyone would remain happy.

  During that quiet moment, he noticed Krijero standing in the background, watching a bunch of Nobeks engaged in a rappelling race down the mountainside.

  The Imdiko stood alone, the smile on his face wistful as he looked at the boisterous good time others were having. Gelan noticed a small food stain on the psych’s nicely tailored turquoise shirt, another piece of clothing victimized by Krijero’s clumsiness. However, his trousers were clean and neatly pressed for a change. They clung to long, lithe thighs in a way that made Gelan’s mouth dry. No
t only that, but Krijero had tamed his usually messy wealth of hair, tying it back in a ponytail and leaving his face exposed. He seemed unaware of the appreciative looks he got from the assembled guests. Some were fellow officers from their precinct, but few seemed to recognize him. When anyone got close as if they would speak to him, Krijero ducked his head and studied his shoes, turning away slightly to keep them from approaching.

  Even as Gelan felt a mixture of sympathy and casual lust for the shy Imdiko, his mind dwelt on Krijero’s assertion that the Delir case was a bigger matter than gang crime. In light of Huk’s similar allegations, it worried the Dramok. They’d finished the Delir issue; the drug had not appeared anywhere in the weeks since the lab that made it had been destroyed. Still, the men who had ultimately been the driving force behind it were still at large. If Krijero and Huk were right, then Delir might come back.

  Yells got Gelan’s attention and he looked up at the rappel race. His Nobek was halfway to the finish, well ahead of the other men trying to reach the ground. Gelan snorted to see a couple of large rips in Wynhod’s nice clanning clothes, made of fine linens ordered by Asilef for this day. Gelan looked to see her watching her new son, her lips pressed tight together, one foot tapping the ground in a way that Gelan knew all too well. Wynhod would be waiting a long, long time before she baked him another chafga casserole. He’d be lucky if he didn’t also get a piece of her mind, clanning day or not.

  Gelan chuckled and put thoughts of criminals and Delir out of his head. There would be time enough later to be concerned about such things. Today was all about appreciating his good fortune, and he meant to wring every second of joy he could get out of it.

  Book Two: Krijero

  Chapter 1

  Gelan stepped out onto the balcony that connected to the sleeping room, his hands full of a bottle of kloq and a cup to drink it from. He’d not have bothered with the cup, except he knew he’d be sharing the bottle with Wynhod. Then again, maybe his Nobek would have liked a bottle of his own. They could sit outside and swig like a couple of alcoholics. It sounded like a good plan, but now that Gelan was already there on the balcony, he couldn’t be bothered with going back inside for more booze.

  Wynhod had come out and sat with his own cup, looking at the sun setting over the next mountain. It painted the sky in red and gold streaks that would have been beautiful had Gelan’s mood been better. The view of the jutting peaks all around never got old for him. The air was crisp and invigorating. Autumn was his favorite time of year, when the hectic heat of summer finally released its grasp on the Southwest Mountain Territory. Now was the best time for hunting or to indulge Wynhod in his favorite sport of mountain climbing. The season beckoned with all its enjoyments and distractions. That the Dramok had someone to share it with made it even better. Too bad they still hadn’t found their third.

  Gelan sank in the chair next to Wynhod’s. The durable outdoor fabric, the same color as the most crimson shade in the evening’s sky, molded comfortably around his muscular bulk.

  His Nobek finished sucking down his drink and wordlessly held his cup out to Gelan without taking his eyes off the sunset. The Dramok obliged by filling it up as well as his own. He set the bottle down and sighed.

  Somehow Wynhod managed to keep his tone even, not allowing even the slightest note of disappointment to creep in. “Did you already pack up the stuff he had over here?”

  Gelan downed half his glass before answering. “Done and sent to his home. I’m getting a little too good at this.”

  This time his clanmate did let a little frustration sneak in. “That’s the eighth potential Imdiko in ten years. It always starts off good and then they leave. What are we doing wrong?”

  “According to them, we’re too much alike.”

  Wynhod snorted. “That’s the stupidest reason I’ve ever heard. If we’re so much alike, then it stands to reason that if you like one of us, you should like the other.”

  Gelan managed a rueful grin. “Hell, we even—”

  “—finish each other’s sentences.”

  The two men looked at one another and grimaced. In perfect sync as always, Gelan noted. He sighed.

  Wynhod laughed at their predicament. “Well, fuck. Maybe we should just give up. They’re all getting younger and younger anyway.”

  Gelan swallowed the rest of his kloq and reached for the bottle. “Wrong. We’re getting older.”

  “You don’t find many unclanned Imdikos our age. They’re almost as scarce as Mataras. Half as many of them as my breed, and few available at this stage of life.”

  Gelan shrugged. “It’s not like we’re going to find a Matara anyway, which is the main reason for creating a clan of three men. What was that I heard, that there might be less than two hundred fertile women available for clanning in all the Empire?”

  Wynhod stretched his long legs and relaxed a little. “I guess if we want some guy who will submit to being our bottom without a fight, we can always hit the pleasure club and play with a service Imdiko.”

  “Or you could be nice for a change and surrender—”

  “Shit on that.” The Nobek held out his cup. “More. Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll be too drunk to kick and then fuck your ass tonight.”

  Gelan laughed and poured his drink. “In that case, take the whole damned bottle.”

  He grinned at Wynhod, and his clanmate grinned back. The hurt of yet another rejection faded in the glow of companionship and alcohol. Maybe Wynhod was right. Maybe it was time to give up on clanning an Imdiko, as nice as it would be to have one compatible to their needs. After all, Gelan was perfectly happy with Wynhod, the man who felt like half his soul.

  It could be that they were so well matched that there wasn’t room for a third. Ten years of clanship and eight ill-fitting Imdikos had certainly borne that theory out.

  * * * *

  Krijero walked into the investigation department, feeling extremely antsy about doing so. His nervousness had nothing to do with the fact that the room crowded with teams of Dramoks and Nobeks. Only three fellow Imdikos worked as investigators for this precinct, men who were natural caregivers but had strong Dramok tendencies as well. Fascinating people. Unfortunately, he was not here to talk to any of them.

  No, Krijero had to spend a little face time with a couple of particularly powerful men who were as far from the nurturing Imdiko breed as one could imagine. What he had to tell them had Krijero’s hands sweating.

  “Looks like a little lost psych to me,” a rough voice said as he hesitated just inside the door.

  Krijero jerked his head up and peered through the strands of hair falling over his face. Sitting at two desks across from each other were a Dramok and Nobek, grinning up at him from their chairs. They were vaguely familiar to the Imdiko; no doubt he’d seen them in passing before. It was the Nobek who had spoken.

  The Dramok, a wide-featured man with massive shoulders, looked him over with an expression of amusement. Krijero was as rumpled and messy as ever. His clothes were clean but he could never seem to summon the motivation to fold them neatly before putting them in their drawers.

  “You’re the one who works with Gelan most of the time, aren’t you?” the Dramok asked. His slanted eyes narrowed further. “It’s Dr. Krijero, right? You were in on that Delir case several years ago. You got a commendation and all that.”

  “Yeah.” Krijero thought it interesting that Delir had come up, considering what he was about to do.

  “Got a hot lead, psych?” the Nobek asked. He was better looking than his partner, but not by much. His nose was a beak of a thing and slightly hooked at the end. The way his hair had been pulled back tight in a braid only accentuated that unfortunate feature.

  The enforcer’s tone approached the edge of taunting as he kept talking. “Going to save Kalquor once more from behind your desk?”

  The Dramok tossed an empty food container he had lying on his desk at the other man. “Don’t mind Nobek Panow, Krijero. He’s long on stupid
and short on manners.”

  “Fuck you, Dexel,” Panow said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. The psych knows we like to tease his department.”

  “Yeah, a million laughs every day,” Krijero said, moving away from the pair. “Excuse me.”

  He navigated his way carefully through the maze of closely arranged desks that begged for him to bump into them. In the far corner of the room, he saw that the two men he’d come to talk to were sitting at their desks. It suddenly occurred to Krijero that he hadn’t seen Gelan and Wynhod face to face in quite a while. Gelan still requested the Imdiko’s help when he hit a snag on whatever case he worked on, but they communicated mostly via message, com, or vid. Krijero couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to Wynhod.

  Ten years had passed since the Delir case when Krijero had first met the pair. The time had leant extra maturity to the two men’s faces, honing the stern lines of Wynhod’s features and granting even more imperious elegance to Gelan’s. They looked stunning, and Krijero was once more too aware of his own rumpled appearance.

  He steered his thoughts to concentrating on not walking into anything until he found himself standing next to the two men’s desks. He looked into a pair of surprised and curious faces.

  Gelan’s tone was warm as he greeted him. “Dr. Krijero. Good to see you.”

  Wynhod added, “So you do exist outside the brain trust.”

  The psych shrugged. “Yeah, I stick my head out once in awhile to see the real world.”

  He thought his pretended nonchalance sounded pretty convincing. He was actually nervous as hell, and Nobek Panow’s rudeness had only increased that feeling. What he would say in the next few moments would not be welcome, based on past experience. Yet the situation had reached the point that Krijero couldn’t put off this conversation any longer and remain friends with his conscience.