Jeanne G'Fellers - No Sister of Mine

by Jeanne G'Fellers

  All the anger Krell felt from the confrontation with Tatra dissipated. LaRenna looked as if she had been born Autlach, necessary if she was to succeed in reconnaissance against other Taelachs. Her eyes were a delicate fawn brown and her skin the sun-kissed warmth of the Langus farmwomen. She wore a fitted white cap-sleeved work frock, brown overskirts, and flat beast-hide slippers. The untamed mop on her head had been bobbed midneck and glistened with red highlights.

  LaRenna viewed herself in the reflecting board above the examining room basin and howled dismay. “I look horrible! So, so, monochromatic. Brown! Every inch of me is brown or some variation thereof.” Her unhappiness increased with the awareness of Krell’s intense stare. “Oh my,” cried LaRenna. “Is it really that bad?”

  Krell startled then looked away. “Your appearance merely reminded me of the descriptions of an Earth animal I’ve read about. You look like a wren.”

  “What?” LaRenna stopped, thinking the word was an attempted play on her name.

  “A wren.” Krell carefully spelled out the word. “Have you ever read any of the archeology files from the ancient human mining colony on Farstar?”

  “Yes, First Kimshee, Belsas is a trained historian. However, I am not familiar with this term. Is wren another word for plain or boring in human?”

  “No, it’s not.” Krell bit down to keep from admitting just how pleasant LaRenna’s appearance really was. “A wren is a type of animal called a bird. It’s small, brown, and covered with something called feathers.”

  LaRenna groaned. “I resemble a dull, brown animal?”

  “Birds are fascinating.”

  LaRenna ventured another glance at Krell in the reflecting board. “Please tell me more, First Kimshee.”

  “For one thing, they fly.”

  “Like the winged rodents on Saria Three?”

  “Similar, but to achieve flight, birds use wings, not skin stretched between the front and hind legs. Wrens are much smaller, too.” Krell sat on the examining table’s edge and leaned forward, cupping her hand for demonstration purposes. “They’d fit in the palm of your hand. That’s why I called you one.”

  LaRenna leaned against the basin as she questioned the analogy. “You are referring to my physical size, First Kimshee?”

  “It does concern me.”

  “It was never a question during my initial training or coursework,” the pseudo-Autlach interrupted. “Why would it come into play now?”

  “Never mind.” Krell stiffened then stood, pacing the room in quick, wide strides. “Practice sliding those lenses back. You’ll need speed if you fall into a fight.”

  After several hard blinks and a bit of impatient instruction from her mentor, LaRenna did as instructed, refocusing through her natural pale blue color to find an intent look and phase from Krell waiting for her. Not near good enough, girl. You lack control. This isn’t school. This is reality. I could have killed you twice over.

  LaRenna was quick to push Krell’s presence into a far corner of her mind. I’m trying, First Kimshee.

  Try harder. Krell gave LaRenna the equivalent of a mental pinch, then dropped her phase. “We’ll reduce your endeavors to working with Autlachs,” she said despite the want for more. “Most can master control of the Aut mind in a short time. But be warned, their minds are so open that it’s easy to overdo it.”

  “And where do I find an Autlach willing to let me play with his head?”

  Krell sighed at LaRenna’s naiveté. “Where Auts play, girl. The market. The best time to toy with an Aut’s mind is when you’re right beside him.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t expect you to.” Krell tossed LaRenna her cloak. “We’re going to the Common Grounds. It’s midday, so the place will be teeming with unknowing subjects.” And they were off, LaRenna once again running to keep up with her teacher’s gait.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dearest LaRenna,

  This note was given to Master Yeoman Quall to be forwarded to you. I pray it reaches you. Nobody will tell me where your posting is. It seems to be a closely protected secret. Just like you, disappearing without saying goodbye. You probably love the mystery of it. I hope you find the adventures you are seeking. Remember, I post on the Predator. Please send word as time allows. I miss you.

  Yours always,

  Malley Whellen

  Third Engineer

  Chapter Fifteen

  Identical Taelachs feed off their twin’s negative energies, creating a disastrous combination of hatred and insanity.

  —common Taelach knowledge

  Bane woke with a jerk then stared at the ceiling, wondering how long he had been unconscious. Seizures came so frequently that he’d lost all sense of time. The hour, he surmised, must be evening because voices and the clanking of dishware echoed up the stairwell. The noise was louder than it had been in some time. Business must be good.

  He rolled to his side and balanced on one elbow. His tunic was fresh, his bed linens clean, and a tray of warm food lay within easy reach. “Bless Starnes’s soul.” Bane was humbled by his loss of control. No matter how bad it became, and it was frequently that, his son always tended to his needs. Shaking, he reached for the water glass and drew a sip over his cracked lips, wincing at the pain that accompanied swallowing. He returned the glass to the tray and lay back, startling when another thud on the adjoining room’s wall made the water slosh. Footfalls vibrated and a low drawl cursed. Bane sank in his bedroll. If he pretended to be asleep, he might be left alone. Eyes shut tight, he listened to the disjointed ranting that flowed from the next chamber, praying they wouldn’t come to include him.

  Brandoff stumbled across the room, a near empty wine crystal in her hand. “Stay upstairs, Brandoff. Be quiet, Brandoff. Quit your bellyaching, Brandoff. I’m sick of it!” Brandoff pried her boot knife from the wall, circled, and threw again. Thud! The knife sank to its intricately carved hilt. “Why’s it always me who ends up stuck high and away? Always me who’s left hanging while Cance makes things happen?” Thud! “Cance doesn’t trust me to take care of things. Why couldn’t I disguise my appearance, too?” She jumped back to avoid a bad throw that ricocheted off the wall, stepped on the blade’s tip to raise the handle, picked up the knife, and threw it once more. Thud!

  Cance bounded up the stairway in an angry snit. The throws were audible through the bar’s thin floors. “Brandoff! What the fuck are you doing? This bar is packed and I’m trying to conduct a business meeting. I don’t have time for your games.” Thud! The knife sailed past Cance’s head, imbedding in the wall.

  “I’m bored outta’ my mind. There’s nothing for me to do. Let me put my cloak on and come downstairs. I promise to stay out of the way and keep my mouth shut. Come on, Cance!”

  Cance jerked the knife from the wall and flung it between her twin’s feet. “Not a chance. Hyped and drunk as you are, you’d pounce on anything that bounced or wiggled through the door. I’d have to keep constant watch on you.”

  Brandoff slid the knife into its sheath then collapsed, weary with boredom, into a chair. “I’ll even work the kitchen, Cance. Come on. I’m going crazy up here.” Brandoff dropped to the floor, rattling the room again, her hair flying forward as she begged for something to do.

  “You want to keep busy?” Cance shoved Brandoff back into the seat. “I’ll give you something to do. Wait here.” She vaulted down the stairs to return momentarily with a heaping pile of dirty kitchen linens that she shoved into Brandoff’s arms. “Knock yourself out.”

  Brandoff dumped the insulting bundle. “Do I look like your fuckin’ Aut drudge?”

  Look, Brandoff, Cance pushed the tiniest of phases. You have your role to play in a couple of days. Be patient. Please. There’s a clean set in the washroom. Fold them, start these, and I’ll be up in a while to check on you.

  All right. Brandoff’s hair fell into limp clumps about her drawn face. I’ll do them, just promise we’ll be out of this hole soon. I’m feelin
g useless.

  Useless? Where would I be without the best pilot in the Sarian system? Brandoff’s ability to fly almost any craft, Taelach or Autlach, was the main reason Cance had risked taking her unstable twin from Trimar’s snowfields. There was little sibling bonding between them and what existed was often volatile. I need you, Brannie.

  You do?

  ’Course I do. “Now, my Kimshee senses tell me the old man is awake. Have him keep you company and help fold those linens.” Cance paused on the stair head to peer down at the main dining room’s crowded conditions. “Starnes wants to go to the Hiring Hall in the morning and I think maybe he should. I’m no bartender and he barely has time to cook, much less throw together drinks and serve them. Behave yourself, Brandoff. I’ll be back.”

  “Yeah, Cance.” Brandoff gathered the linens as the door fell shut. “Bitch, you think you know so much. My knife and I know better and one of these days we’re gonna show you just how ignorant you really are.” Brandoff carried the linens to the washroom, threw them on the counter and removed the fresh ones from the cleaning unit, grumbling unsavory grievances all the while.

  Crammed to capacity with soiled towels, the unit chirped and hummed its cycle signal, needing no further attention. Brandoff balled the sweet-smelling towels in her arms then went to Bane’s corner. “Get up, old fool. I know you’re faking it.” She threw the bundle on his chest. “Fold these while you tell me another of your stories.”

  Bane opened his eyes. “Should have known better than to try to fool a Taelach.” He tried to sit up but the trifling weight of the linens pinned his frail body, laboring his breathing. “Move these,” he wheezed, “and you’ll get your story.”

  “A demand from the dying?” Brandoff snorted. “Very well, I’ll fold them. Just spare me from boredom.”

  Weight lifted from his chest, Bane pushed to a reclining position, the effort throwing him into a painful coughing spasm. He sputtered and gurgled, choking on his own fluids.

  “Mess yourself and it won’t be me who cleans you up!” Brandoff pulled a chair beside him.

  “Water,” he gasped, “please.”

  Brandoff grabbed the glass from the tray, dunked her fingers into it, and flicked them in his face. “Drink up.” Bane stared at her, too winded to object, far too used to her cruel manipulations to give the pleasure of a reaction. “I guess you want me to hold the glass too, don’t you?” She raised his head and held the glass to his lips, allowing him several sips before she jerked it away. “Now, spin me a tale, old man, before I make you the new target for my knife play.”

  “Did you ever hear the story of the Greatest Gift?”

  “No, let me hear it.”

  “On the edge of the eastern Langus shore there is an island called Vinsite. The seas there are unusually rough. They batter the rocky cliffs and storms frequently bash the small cluster of compounds that lie there.

  “A child by the name of Talana lived there with her family.”

  “Aut or Taelach?” Brandoff continued to fold linens.

  “Autlach of course,” said Bane irritably. “I know no stories involving Taelachs that you would approve of. Now, it was the Feast of the Making and a terrible storm was raging on the island. Talana’s home was warm and a chasa meat roast was cooking over the fire. The table was set with the makings of a wonderful meal, but Talana and her mother weren’t interested in it. Instead, they walked to the windows every few minutes, drawing back the drapes to look down the hill toward the sea. Talana repeatedly asked when her father would return. Her mother would say ‘soon’ and leave it at that.

  “Talana’s father was a fisherman and sometimes gone for days at a time. He always returned with something for Talana, usually a pretty shell or some other trinket. But this time, because of the Feast, he had promised her a special toy.

  “The storm grew angrier and angrier.”

  “What about the environmental controls?” Brandoff asked

  “This was before the Autlach had stable weather control.” Bane wheezed heavily. “If you keep interrupting me I’ll be too spent to finish.”

  “Go on then.” Brandoff stacked the folded linens at her feet.

  “The windows rattled and the wind pulled at the roof. Talana’s mother was in tears with worry.”

  “Typical Aut bitch, crying at everything.”

  After a glare, Bane continued. “Finally, a faint knock sounded on the door. Talana flew to open it and there stood her father. He was soaking wet, his clothes covered with mud. His boots left puddles as he dragged himself to the fire. Talana’s mother wrapped a blanket ’round him and stoked the flames. After some time, he told them what had happened. His ship had been caught outside the docks when the storm blew up. It was impossible to navigate around the barrier rocks in the heavy seas, so they forced the ship to the far side of the island and into the coastal caverns. He had walked across the island in the storm to reach his home. On his way, he had gotten turned about and wandered for hours in the forest.

  “Talana’s father called her over and told her he had lost the toy in the storm. He held her close and she could feel his warmth and caring. Suddenly, the toy wasn’t important. She kissed her father’s cheek, hugged him close, and told him his being there was the most special gift he could ever give.”

  “A children’s story?” Brandoff bristled a little. “You waste my time with a fucking children’s story?”

  “A teaching tale, nothing more.” Bane’s breathing had become labored. “No insult was intended. I only did as you said.”

  “So you did.” She took the stew plate from the bedside tray and set it in his lap. “Eat something. I can’t have my only entertainment kicking off yet.”

  “Can’t,” he whispered. “Too tired.”

  “Must I feed you like an infant, old fool?” Brandoff snatched the plate and spooned a bite into his mouth. “Don’t get used to it. I’m feeling generous for some reason.” She waited while he struggled to swallow then shoved another at him. “Hurry up. I’m only giving broth. There’s nothing to chew.”

  “No more.” Bane fairly mouthed the words. “Water.” Brandoff helped him take another drink then eased him back on the pillows.

  “The old man is making you soft.” Cance stood at the stair head. “Why bother? He’s dead when we leave here.” She took the stack of linens then looked back to where Bane’s wasting body was curled. “Why help him linger? Let him die.”

  “He occupies my time.”

  “Not now he doesn’t. I need you to complete the modifications on the plasma bows.”

  “They’re finished.”

  Cance smiled. “Perfect. Check the scan decoders. I’m fairly certain they’re synchronized, but you’re the expert. Double-check my calculations. And my bow is due a charge. Get it done.” Her twin’s attention adequately diverted, Cance disappeared down the stairs.

  “You have no intention of helping the Cause, do you?” whispered Bane from his pallet. “Why are you really here?”

  “Don’t worry your feeble head over it, old man. You’ll be dead by then. We don’t leave witnesses alive. Ever.” Brandoff opened one of the decoders and began tinkering with the internal settings.

  “I”—Bane winced as a seizure began to flame its way through his skeletal frame—“have children, grandchildren . . .”

  Brandoff watched in demented fascination as palsy caused Bane’s wasting body to jerk spasmodically. Prock overdosers did the very same thing and Brandoff had done it more than once. The Taelach called it aelandac, the death dance. No one had helped her. Cance had only seen that she hadn’t choked. Why should she help now? Bane wasn’t overdosing, just dying an old man’s death and besides, he was Aut. “You wrinkled fool, you just don’t understand, do you? Old, young, all of you are worthless imbeciles in desperate need of an end to your pitiful lives.” Brandoff walked away, taking his pillow for a quieter knife target and his dinner simply because. “You’ll all die and the world will be a better place for it.�
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  Chapter Sixteen

  You are my heart, my spirit, the reason for my being . . .

  —from Guardian’s Song

  Two days passed quickly, Krell and LaRenna’s stressful, addicting bond intensifying with every teaching phase. LaRenna’s abilities were unlike anything Krell had ever imagined. Already, she phased at or above the level Krell had practiced over sixteen passes to obtain, and Krell was highly regarded in the Kimshee calling.

  The sun had long set and they had returned to their shared quarters following a session at the weapons range in which LaRenna had thoroughly smashed Krell’s previously untouched accuracy ratio with the plasma bow. Krell seemed angered by the defeat, but was beginning to take such events in stride. Training LaRenna was proving exciting indeed.

  “Again.” Krell motioned to LaRenna. They were sitting in the sleeping corner, Krell reclining against the stacked bedrolls, LaRenna kneeling before her instructor. Between them the room’s only light, a meditation candle, cast a low blue ripple. The mental concentration needed to light and extinguish a flame was intense. Krell had only recently mastered it, which was sooner than most Kimshees. The majority of other Taelachs found it an impossible task, far above the standard levels of control. LaRenna, much to Krell’s embarrassment and vexation, took to it with ease.

  “Center more into the core of the flame.” Krell watched as the candle’s glow increased in response to LaRenna’s phase. “That’s enough. Now snuff it out.”

  LaRenna pushed a smothering phase pulse over the luminary and it died with a puff of smoke to make her smile. The grin faded when she noticed Krell’s eyes on her. “First Kimshee?”

  “You still lack control,” she mumbled for lack of any other complaint. “But all in all you have improved.”

  Another grin fluttered briefly across LaRenna’s face in response to a rare compliment.