Jeanne G'Fellers - No Sister of Mine

by Jeanne G'Fellers

  Now Krell was certain. “Markings?”

  “Sorta moon shaped. Like this.” Starnes held his hand up in a perfect letter C.

  Krell nodded and tapped thoughtfully on the table. Belsas Exzal was right, two of the Branded had escaped, and identical looks meant twice the trouble, triple the insanity. “What do you want the Kinship to do about it?”

  “Do?” Starnes wheezed. “Do? I want the bitches outta my bar. That’s what I want!”

  “Tell me more.” Krell cast Starnes a slow stare that planted a subtle mind phase to check for lies.

  “What else is there to tell?” He shrugged. “They’re Taelach, they drink too much, and they’re pure evil coming to an ugly head.” Then he cocked his head and pointed to Krell. “They both had braids like yours, but one of them cut theirs off and dyed”— Starnes hesitated, reforming his next words in an effort to not offend his only chance at assistance—“its hair, tinted its skin, too, but the dye made it sick before it could accomplish a very dark tint. The other one hasn’t tried to change a thing. Hair is real long, sort of a dingy white with a few of those dark streaks your people get as they age. Kinda skinny as well, looks kinda like one of your women,” he scowled, “but it sure as hell isn’t.”

  “Taelachs are all women and my type is called guardian, not it,” snapped Krell. “And if you wish assistance I suggest—”

  “You have my apologies,” stammered Starnes. “But it is a better word than most my people use.”

  “Point taken. Continue.”

  “Neither of them is especially tall to be guardian. That’s what they are though. They’re your kind. You take care of them.”

  Krell rested her elbow on her boot top. “They’re not in the Kinship and they’re not supposed to be here. Anything else?”

  “Yeah.” Starnes wagged a fat finger toward her. “The one who cut off the braids, Cance is her name, wears brown lenses.” Having seen Cance both in and out of her Autlach disguise, he preferred the lenses. With them, she couldn’t mind-phase him the way she could and did when she wasn’t hiding her telltale blue eyes.

  “Look Autlach enough for a passing glance?”

  “Does a pretty damn good job of it. Got walking and talking male down to an art.” Starnes drew back when a couple sat down at the next table. If Cance had the means to pass as Autlach there was no telling who else was involved. “Time’s up. You going to help me or not?”

  “You know where the Hiring Hall is?”

  “Of course,” he said. “But the last thing I need is—”

  “Silence. In five days, go to the Hiring Hall and ask for someone who can wait tables and clean up. Be sure to talk to the Assistant Hall Master. He’ll be expecting you.”

  “For the love of—”

  “You’re not listening.” Krell showed her impatience by drumming her fingers on the table. “Just do it, and make sure you hire a female.”

  “Taelach?” he asked hopefully.

  “No, Autlach. Her name will be LaRenna. Remember that.” Krell rose from the table and peered at Starnes, who flinched involuntarily. “If you want help, this is what you’ll do.” Krell turned to leave, but halted when the Autlach reached out.

  “And what do I tell my unwanted guests about a new employee? Things have been slow.”

  “You’re about to have a boom in business.”

  This still failed to pacify the barman. “Listen, my father is ill. He’s bedfast. They won’t let me get him treated.”

  Krell picked at his head a second time. Again, no deception. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Strong’s Seizures.”

  “How long?” Her concern surprised a man used to the unfeeling nature of his current boarders.

  “A full moon cycle, maybe a little longer.”

  “Strong’s Seizures take two to three cycles untreated to be fatal. Keep him comfortable and I’ll send medicine with your help.” Then Krell reminded him sternly: “Five days. No more, no less.” She threw Russ’s payment on the table and walked away.

  “Wait,” implored Starnes, but Krell was gone, lost in the crowds of the Common Grounds. How does one so large disappear so quickly, he wondered, then lumbered toward the market area to make his purchases.

  Russ remained by the kitchen window until they had safely departed. He knew of an individual who rewarded handsomely for such information, provided he could locate them. “Sorry, Krell,” he murmured, deep in for the monetary boost heading his direction, “but times are tough and I have children to feed. We all must sacrifice something.”

  Chapter Nine

  Taelachs are cunning creatures. They are never where or what you would expect.

  —Autlach warning

  Krell searched for fair Taelach hair swimming above the sea of dark Autlach heads ebbing from the passenger transport. Maybe I’m too far back, she thought and pushed more to the center of the platform. In her haste, she bumped into a small, hooded figure skirting the crowd, knocking it to the ground. “Apologies, friend.” Krell offered an arm in assistance. A delicate, pale hand accepted the gesture and sparkling blue eyes met her own. Krell startled, drawing a quick breath. “Third Kimshee Belsas?”

  LaRenna snapped to her feet, dusted herself off, and raised an arm in salute. “Reporting for my post as required. Are you first Kimshee Middle?”

  “Yes, uh—” Krell faltered, caught off watch by the unexpected beauty of the slight woman before her. “I’m sorry, but are you sure you’re Kimshee? It’s generally not a— A little small, aren’t you?”

  Small? LaRenna thought. Why, I’ll show—

  “My guardian raiser says size isn’t what makes one large or small.” LaRenna cringed, hoping that hadn’t sounded as asinine to her superior as it had to her. She wanted to make a point, not alienate herself.

  The tall Kimshee only laughed, pushing a smile into the full mouth topping her square jawline. “Yep, that sounds like Belsas Exzal.”

  Now LaRenna was startled. “You know my raiser personally, First Kimshee?”

  “Know Grandmaster Belsas? Why, I’ve attended every lecture she’s ever given at the Training Grounds and served as her Autlach liaison at several posts as well. Don’t tell me you’re that bright-eyed child who used to tug on everyone’s tunic tails?”

  “Guilty as charged, First Kimshee.” LaRenna smiled up bashfully. “I remember you now. You took a youth group I was a member of hiking when I was around eleven.”

  “You’re right, and call me Krell. We don’t have time for the formalities or any more small talk. Let’s go.”

  They walked quickly across the base. Krell’s strides far outpaced those of the shorter Taelach’s gait so she slowed to a stride LaRenna could maintain. They stopped here and there along the way, Krell indicating points of interest. It was a vast space, as large as Polmel, as populated but cleaner and more simply arranged. Krell told of the recent expansions and apologized for the living conditions. “If it wasn’t so crowded, I would have insisted on private quarters for you. But as it is, and will continue to be, we’re fortunate not to be sharing with an entire sentry squadron. I tried to make the lack of space tolerable, cleared out a few shelves and scrounged up an extra clothing cubicle for you.”

  LaRenna appreciated the concern for her personal comfort. “I’m sure it will be adequate,” she said politely, trying not to appear so intimidated by her teacher’s sheer size. Krell was exceedingly tall, even for a guardian. She was muscular as well but in that lean, graceful way Taelachs were known for. “I really didn’t bring that much.”

  “So I noticed,” replied Krell with an admiring glance at the top of LaRenna’s generous locks. “But then again, I didn’t to my first post either. Here we are.” She pointed to the housing compound directly ahead. “We’re fourth floor, number four two four.”

  LaRenna’s blue eyes brimmed with doubt. “Everyone shares quarters here?”

  “Yes, the Langus base no longer segregates housing areas, officer-enlisted, or Taelach
-Autlach,” said Krell bluntly, though not indifferent to LaRenna’s reluctance to accept what was all so new. “Things go smoothly most days. Not that you’ll be around enough to worry about it. You’ll be far too busy.” She stepped onto the lift, holding it open while LaRenna and a weary Autlach sentry boarded. He leaned against the lift walls, near asleep. Krell nodded acknowledgment to his half-hearted salute then let silence prevail until they reached the fourth level.

  “We’re home.”

  Krell turned down the right-hand passageway. LaRenna followed slowly, taking in her new surroundings. The quarters here were indeed cramped, some sentries forced to bunk in cleared storage closets. Krell placed an index finger on the security plate and the hatch to their quarters hissed open. “We’ll add you to the identification program tomorrow.” She tossed her sandy cape onto its hook then placed a partially filled water urn to heat. “Put your bag in the corner and have a seat.”

  LaRenna obliged, flopping her spent body into a chair. Her head held an indefinable ache, one she wasn’t sure came from exhaustion or from the hunger that twisted her insides. Not that it needed labeling; both needs would be met soon enough. She pulled off her boots and rubbed her swollen feet, flinching as she touched the new Kimshee symbol gracing the upper third of her right foot.

  Krell bent close to examine the reddened tattoo. “Marks hurt at first, don’t they? Guess that’s why most of us get our family ones when we’re too small to remember. It’ll heal soon enough. Leave your boots off the rest of the evening so it can air. That’ll help speed the process.” Drawing her eyes upward, she noticed the hunger-wrenched expression on LaRenna’s face. “Bet you’re starving. I’ll run down to the main level galley and bring back something for us both. Why don’t you clean up and change while I’m gone?”

  LaRenna nodded and watched the First Kimshee depart. She wondered if she truly looked and smelled bad enough to warrant the suggestion of bathing. Krell was probably just thinking of her personal comfort, she assured herself, and removed her travel-grimed uniform.

  The warmth of the tub offered to take away some of the journey’s stress so LaRenna sank deeply into it, submerging her head to wet her hair, then letting the water float it freely. She took the soaping stone and cleaned head to toe, proclaiming all the while that the mineral-laden waters of Langus would never make her feel clean enough.

  The hiss of the hatchway and the unmistakable aroma of nourishment alerted her to her mentor’s return. Driven by the smell, she dried quickly, wrapped her head in the same towel, then slid a lightweight service tunic and leggings over her feminine shape.

  Krell had moved the worktable to the center of the room, neatly arranged the food on it and was pouring two cups of tea when LaRenna emerged from the bathing chamber.

  “Better?” Krell cast her a warm smile.

  “Much,” replied LaRenna, reclaiming her space at the table. She took the cup Krell offered and sipped, the inside of her mouth puckering from the lack of sweetener.

  “Ferntree tea, hope you like it.” Krell chuckled when the bitterness caused her mouth to draw in a similar fashion. “Sorry, but I’m out of sweetener at present. It can be hard to obtain at times. I believe sweet root is the only crop Langus doesn’t grow.” She sat across from LaRenna and lounged back, one elbow on the chair arm, head leaning on her fist, picking at her dinner as she considered LaRenna at length. She was incredibly beautiful, that was a certainty. But, as an adult child of Belsas, she was a far cry from what Krell had expected. Maybe size had caused her surprise. LaRenna was nearly the same height as when Krell had last seen her over ten passes ago. Oh, she’d filled out nicely enough, any Taelach with half a libido would admit to that. LaRenna had taken graceful curves to the extreme, developing an hourglass figure: full chest and pleasing hips sculpted at the center by a narrow waist. Surely, she surmised as LaRenna became aware of the intense gaze she was receiving, their former meetings and pure physical attraction were to blame for the sense of familiarity.

  LaRenna finished her meal, flushed her disposable dish down the waste tube, then cleaned and sheathed her boot knife. She yawned deeply then, stifling a burp with the back of her hand, and collapsed in her seat. “Thank you. That was wonderful.”

  “Starvation is what made it edible. Most anything’s preferable to transport rations.” Krell chortled as she tossed remains of her meal in the tube. The condition of the eating blade was a direct reflection of one’s personal habits in the Taelach culture, so Krell cleaned hers to a gleam. Then, well accustomed to the bitterness, she poured more tea, then asked LaRenna if she desired the same. The soft sounds of someone in a deep slumber were the only reply. Fatigue had won its battle. “Poor girl,” whispered Krell, carefully removing the towel from LaRenna’s damp ringlets. “The food did you in.” She unfolded a platform and bedding roll, then placed the blanket over LaRenna, running her fingers lightly over the young woman’s arms. LaRenna’s form was solid, forcing Krell to admit error in assuming her career choice had been poor. She was tough—a neat little package of muscle and intelligence, ideal for a Kimshee. Krell now looked forward to their first lessons, but that would simply have to wait until morning.

  Krell wrapped in her cloak and crept out the door. Loose ends needed her attention. One of the sentry commanders was about to receive an after-hours visitor. Starnes needed a boost in business and that was precisely what he was going to get.

  Chapter Ten

  The mind of the masses is a rusted, barnacle-ridden vessel, free of most logical thought, heavy with pack instincts. High surge in either direction divides the pack and the ship capsizes to the lean of the majority, survivors clinging to the bottom side. A direct puncture to the hull and the pack drowns as a whole, leaving no one to bear witness to the captain’s sabotage.

  —Taelach wisdom

  Rain threatened the horizon, dampening the lights in a small valley not far from the Sarian military facilities. An angry but surprisingly quiet crowd had gathered, ears turned to a lone speaker in their midst.

  “Brothers!” Cance Creiloff stood on a small boulder. A head over the tallest in attendance and paler than most, she looked a bit out of place but fit in unlike Brandoff, who was necessarily absent. Forced weight gain and male clothing put her above casual suspicion so she stood proudly among the Autlach, detesting their presence, savoring thoughts of their deaths even though she looked like one of them. “The time has come for us to take back what is ours.” The scars of her true identity hidden under her tunic collar, Cance looked down on the Autlach congregation. Simple fools—she pulled the stiff collar higher—so easily deceived, so willingly misused. It’s a pity really. The challenge is almost nonexistent. “Some Sarians believe they can take our land and say it is for the benefit of us all. They destroy our fields, ruin the fishing waters, and what do we receive in way of compensation? Nothing!”

  Agreeing murmurs wafted through the crowd, Cance’s speech increasing to match the fervor.

  “We have the right to demand restitution and demand it now!” The murmurs intensified into cries of “justice” and “freedom for our lands,” ensuring her of the words’ impact. So Cance continued, with a tightly held frown to prevent her true emotions from leaching through.

  “It is our right to have enough land and fishing waters to nourish and support our families. Since the military base has expanded its presence on Langus, the average family earnings have decreased nearly thirty percent. Poverty is running amok. They are draining the lifeblood of Langus and denying us the crop room critical for the support of our mother planet. It must stop!” Cance stretched her arms wide. “If we don’t, Langus will become as desolate as the Stonemar Plateau on Firewall.” The bleak image of the moon’s yellow-orange surface produced waves of shocked gasps.

  “But what can we do?” wailed a voice.

  “You.” Cance pointed to the balding man who asked the question. “There is much you can do. I’ve been informed by others concerned with the disappearance of La
ngus farms that a charter of demands has been forwarded to the High Council on Saria Three. They have seven days to begin withdrawal of military forces from Langus.”

  “What if they ignore the demands?” cried a young man in the rear.

  “Then we give them a demonstration of our intent.” Cance leapt from the boulder and drew closer, beckoning the most interested to approach. “In seven days”—her face remained guarded— “in seven days, if they refuse our demands, we strike! Every compound, post, and yes, even the base itself will feel the impact of our blows.” Cance picked up a small boy in the crowd and held the squirming child high, exclaiming: “We do this for our children and our children’s children. We do this for ourselves, and we do this for Langus!” Frenzied cries drowned all attempts at speechmaking so Cance joined the celebration, returning the child to his proud mother before adding to the drone.

  When the boisterous display had subsided, she continued the oration, shouting until it was sufficiently calm. “Volunteers are needed to help with our strike at the base, brave men who are willing to risk their lives for their people, fearless souls who will go down in history as the ones who freed Langus from the destructive greed of the Sarian military.” The words rolled off Cance’s tongue far smoother than she had rehearsed. Evil can make a convincing argument when it suits a purpose, and Cance was certainly evil, decades of imprisonment only serving to mold her ambitious mind into one of crazed malefactor. “Do I have volunteers?”

  Ten arms waved high in the air, richly delighting the branded Taelach.

  “Those of you who’ve volunteered, meet me by the tree line in five minutes. Everyone else, return to your homes. Do not speak of our plans, not even to each other. The eyes of the Sarian military are everywhere, perhaps among us now.” The listeners unconsciously recoiled from one another. “We stand on the shores of freedom, our sails unfurled for a favorable breeze. In seven days it begins.”