“Is it because I have lost rank?” she asked after a moment. “Is it a kindness to me?”
“We aren’t enemies,” he snapped, turning on her. “We never have been.”
“Thou are the usurper. Thou killed Hihuan and robbed my child of—”
She broke off, an odd expression crossing her face.
“That’s right,” said Asan, hoping she finally was beginning to understand. “Hihuan, your husband. Didn’t you also try to kill him?”
She gasped, rising to her feet. “How—”
“You forget I knew Fflir,” he said, and watched her face lose color. “He told me all about the court intrigues going on. Hihuan was hated, and he treated you like flin.”
She stood so still it was as though she had even ceased breathing. “Yes,” she said softly, her gaze staring at nothing. “He broke my rings when he…I think he hoped I would die. Instead Cirthe was conceived. She carries his blood, his line. Is—is she like him? Is she as horrible as he? Thou called her a monster.”
“Yes,” Asan said. “I have not looked upon you with truth, Zaula, but I do not think there is anything of you in her.”
Zaula closed her eyes as though to hide the hurt that showed so plainly upon her face. “If I had not born her, the nobles would have demanded my death when Hihuan died. She was my only means of living. My only means of clinging to some small bit of importance. Not to hate thee, Asan, meant surrendering my very existence.”
“I know,” he said gently. “But whatever you have heard about me, I want you to know that I do not follow Tlar protocol and precedent blindly. Most of it is nonsense. Had my jen come into Altian as we planned, you would not have been harmed.”
“I think I believe that.” For the second time she gave him her shy smile. “At least I am free now.”
“Free?” He frowned in puzzlement. “Hardly. We are prisoners—”
“It is not of importance. We have heat, light, food. We are surrounded by wealth. These n’kai know nothing of what it means to be Tlar. They have looked upon my face. I wear the forbidden garments of—” She broke off, blushing. Then she laughed, flinging out her arms. “There is no one to know my lineage or the honor of my house, no one to spy and point fingers, no one to say what I must do next without asking my own will.”
She whirled herself around, then stopped. She looked self-conscious, and the mask returned. “Thou thinks me a fool. Thou looks upon me with pity. I am so tired of pity!”
“I don’t pity people,” said Asan curtly. “And I don’t pity myself. Neither should you.”
“Do I?”
“Do you?”
Her gaze fell. “Yes, thou are wise. Thou sees in the way of the priests—”
“Chielts!”
“Oh. I had forgotten how much thou hates them. Thou destroyed the Kkanthor-kai.”
“No,” he said with irritation. “I destroyed their house. The Bban’n hunted them down.”
She spread her fingers. “Such precise distinctions.”
“It would seem you learned the art of mockery from your husband.”
“I—I’m sorry. But it is hard not to be angry, not to resent the harm thou brought us. Because of thee, Anthi left us to be cold, to sit in the dark, to starve, to be afraid.” Her voice quivered. “I have been afraid for so long—”
“Hush.”
Suddenly she was in his arms, huddled against his chest. He breathed in the fragrance of her, reveled in the softness of her. His irritation faded away as he forced himself to look at his actions from her point of view. An unpleasant sensation spread through him. For the first time he felt cruel and ugly as though he had been unnecessarily harsh.
He had acted to save himself in shutting down the main-support computer. He couldn’t worry about all the others it would affect. Taking responsibility for others was an occupation for fools, or for people who were safe. He’d never been safe, never known security, never had the luxury of being able to relax and not watch his own back.
Giaa had made him care as much for her as he did for himself. And now it was happening again with Zaula. He was getting soft. His brain was soap; soon it would be dribbling out his ears.
He pushed Zaula abruptly away and turned his back on her. He stood beside the game table, picked up one of the cubes, and fidgeted with it. The silence seemed unbearable.
“You don’t understand,” he said. His voice came out loud and harsh. “We’re in big trouble. As soon as we dock, I—” He broke off, unwilling to tell her he would walk to the hand of death. He’d been cruel enough; she might as well keep her illusions a short while longer. Martok might like her, and then she would be all right. He sneered at himself for his worry. The people who deserved to survive did so.
“Thou are afraid,” she said in amazement. “The one who rules the demon…thou fears him.”
The cube crumbled in Asan’s fingers. He turned sharply.
“Yes,” she said before he could speak. “I may not be able to look upon thee with truth, but there are other ways of perception. Ever since the n’kai of this ship killed those of the Institute, thou has worried. Thou knows these humans. Thou has dealt with them before.”
“No.”
“And before, on Ruantl. Thou kept warning everyone of what the humans would do. Thou knew them as though thou had walked among them. Thou knew them as though thou were one thyself…”
She gasped.
Asan threw up his head and met her horrified gaze.
“It’s true,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’ve guessed correctly. The n’ka Omari was used as the catalyst for—”
“This is known,” she said impatiently. “Did thou retain all the n’ka knowledge? Is it not a defilement to thee to feel the n’ka? Why did Picyt not arrange—”
“To hell with this!” said Asan, clenching his fists. “Your high and mighty priest was too scared to do it himself. He was unwilling to die in the service of his Tlar leiil. So he stuck me with it instead. I didn’t care much; I was dying anyway.”
She stepped back, her eyes enormous. “It cannot be—”
“Oh, yes, it can.” He thumped his chest. “I’m Blaise Omari, the n’ka who crash-landed in your toxic desert and was shot for sport by your husband. I was supposed to die in the transference process; only I didn’t. So here I am in Asan’s body. It’s like a suit of clothes, a mask, a disguise to hide in.”
Her mouth was open; she seemed to have difficulty speaking. “And—and he?”
“Gone. Mostly. At night when I dream, the memories overlap. I remember people I never knew. I recall events I never experienced. Sometimes I don’t know who I am or where I am. Fflir helped me through the roughest parts at first. He was the only one who knew the truth…until now.”
He let the words die out. It was too hard to keep stripping away layers of himself. If he didn’t stop talking now he’d be babbling out the whole long stupid story.
Whatever he expected—disgust perhaps—she didn’t exhibit it. Instead she walked up slowly to him and placed her fingertips upon his chest. She frowned, grimacing with concentration, and he felt the tiniest, briefest contact with his rings.
She staggered back, looking as though she might fall. He reached out involuntarily as though to steady her, but she evaded his grasp.
“That,” she said breathlessly, “is why the great Asan has not acted in the manner expected of a legend. That is why there is kindness and courtesy. That is why we are not enemies in spite of all that said we must be. Lli take me, but I am amazed.”
She sank down upon one of the chairs at the game table and stared at him. He sat down across from her, feeling winded, and stared back.
Then his gaze fell from hers and he stared at the hands that were his and yet not his. No matter what he did, he remained a shadow. The old bitterness came back, and he caught himself rubbing his jaw where his number had been on his old body. But even BLZ-80-4163 did not exist. That essential core of his being had been eliminated
too when he found out that he was human born, not vat grown. So he did not even have knowledge of his true origins now.
Who was my mother? he wondered as he had too many times in the dark, cold nights of season when he shivered alone in fear of his nightmares. Who was my father? Why was I raised in Laboratory 80? Why the deception?
“There are no answers,” he told himself, then realized with a start that he had spoken aloud.
“Leiil, what will happen from these n’kai?”
“You don’t have to address me formally now…now that you know,” he said, frowning. “It is permitted to say you when speaking to me.” Then he grinned, remembering an odd scrap of his scanty education. “Did you know, Zaula, that in the old days of human history they considered ‘thou’ a familiar usage and ‘you’ the formal one? Just the reverse of the Tlar way.”
“Does it hurt so much, that a joke must be made of it?” she asked softly. “I am honored by thy gracious permission, noble leiil. You took the title with the body, did you not? You called it a mask. Have there been others?”
“Yes.” He rubbed his face wearily. “Too many. I used to be proud of my disguises. I used to boast that I could assimilate anywhere among anyone. But this is my last disguise. Martok was my boss for a while. I owed him something which I failed to pay. He is planning on my execution.” Asan laughed bitterly. “I thought I wouldn’t be recognized as a Tlar. I was wrong.”
“The n’kai are very clever with their machines. But I do not understand. Why do you hide yourself? Why did you begin?”
He shook his head, then caught himself and turned his palm down instead. “The reasons are old ones. The story is too long.”
She lifted her brows. “Is there not time? I would like to hear it.”
“I’m not an entertainer!”
“And I am not a bored child.”
They glared at each other for a long moment, then Asan sighed.
“Very well,” he said, and began.
Chapter 12
Martok’s base was an ancient space lab of immense size, built by an alien species and abandoned long before any human ventured into the Cyngus Minor quadrant. It had a cylindrical center with long docking arms spiraling out from the top and bottom, making it look like two spiders back to back. Beyond it hung the planet Ghirdana, vast at this close range, intensely blue and green beneath her white cloak of atmosphere.
Released from tow by Enster’s ship, the Dorian Grey was tractored into the vast docking hangar. When she next emerged, her GSI hull configuration would be a different color and slightly different shape, her number would probably be private license or merchant, her engines would bear illegal modifications, and she would have a false hold. Her name would be struck, and she would be rechristened something exotic and alien, like Ramsetahtek or Vzzkxy Nt.
Asan stood at the observation port of Enster’s ship, one hand pressed against the tempered glas-tel. His tall figure, still clad in its tattered jen uniform, was silhouetted against the starry glitter of space. Then the ship turned about, and the planet filled the port with a beauty that made his throat ache. Ghirdana had one satellite; it hung between the base and the planet like a small, barren ball.
Zaula, fascinated by her first sight of a base congested with ingoing and outgoing traffic, kept coming up beside him, giving faint moans and turning pale, then stepping back. Asan turned his head and smiled at her. The port was designed to give a view on three sides, so that if he glanced down he could see space black and empty and infinite below his boots as well. That’s what kept getting to Zaula.
As soon as the ship came out of changeover, Hux had come to their cabin with an officer to escort them to the port if they wanted to watch docking. He stood on guard now at the door, a .28 max jambolt long-range cradled loosely in his arms, his eyes heavy-lidded but alert, his stance a slouch that would permit him to move quickly if necessary.
Asan felt a faint twinge of amusement. Enster was overestimating his sense of desperation. He wasn’t going to try anything.
He drank in the sight before him as ships of all sizes and configurations maneuvered with precision. Most were square-bottomed contraband runners coming in to unload cargo that would be repackaged and relabeled and reloaded onto legitimate freighters for delivery to legal markets. A beautiful sloop with rakish lines that made him gasp with admiration passed them on her way out. He turned to keep her in sight as long as possible. She probably belonged to one of Martok’s executives who’d come in for personal orders.
He’d served on a ship like that once as a steward. Martok’s friends were giving an in-flight party, and it was Martok’s way of testing him to see if he could be trusted away from Udge Enster’s eye. Asan smiled to himself, remembering the plush decor and gold fittings, the sultry-eyed beauties—male, female, and neuters—who lounged about to be sampled along with buffet tables of delicate bin-fish strips, caviar, piree, froths, san-san, and other delicacies he couldn’t even identify.
Traffic was heavy today. There was even a GSI patroller orbiting at maximum range, ignored and ineffectual. Martok allowed them to come by occasionally to look at what they could not have. This system with its three inhabitable planets, sophisticated spaceport, famous interplanetary genetics research facility, University of Ghirdana, and Martok’s HQ was located in Commonwealth territory and was legally outside the jurisdiction of the Institute.
It was their ship’s turn to dock. Asan pressed his whole body against the glas-tel, making Zaula gasp, in order to see the angle of entry. Remembering his own days as a ship’s navigator, he watched critically a flawless example of precision handling. Wild they might be, but free raiders could fly.
A tone chimed overhead as they were engulfed in the dark maw of the hangar. The interior lights came on, bathing them in a muted glow designed not to interfere with the panorama of space. But now, however, the view was limited to glimpses of the hangar filled to capacity with ships moored in freefall berths. The interior lights blinked twice as ship’s power switched off and base came on. Asan could feel a slight drift beneath him in the gravity support. The tone chimed a second time.
“Are our bodies going to fly into the air again?” asked Zaula in alarm.
“No.”
Asan turned and stepped down from the port. Its shields closed behind him. Hux straightened from his slouch, no longer looking sleepy.
“Flake down,” he said.
Asan glanced at Zaula, who was frowning in bewilderment. “We have to wait,” he said.
“His speech does not translate,” she said, tapping her arm.
“It’s not supposed to,” said Asan.
She looked even more puzzled, but before he could explain thief lingo Udge Enster came in.
Udge had exchanged his drab coverall and vest with the bulging pockets for a scarlet costume with tight legs and flared sleeves. It looked expensive and was probably the latest style. On him, with his bald head, weatherbeaten face, and bulging cheeks, it looked ridiculous. He had abandoned the strifer always worn on his hip. Its absence made him seem naked.
He grinned at Asan as though he knew exactly what Asan was thinking, and shoved up one wide sleeve to show a wicked-looking dart fitted to his forearm.
“Cute, ain’t it? Takes a precise muscle flex to fire it. I had to practice a long time.”
“Is it the latest style in personal weapons?”
“Sure. Imported from Negus V. They’re always assassinating diplomats there. This is great in a crowd. I’d teach you how to use it sometime, Tobei, but—”
He broke off with another grin and spat.
“You and the little dandy ready? Martok’s waiting.”
Asan blinked in surprise. “He’s here?”
“Naw. Tobei, you know better than that. Martok never comes here. We’re going all the way in.” Udge looked suddenly serious. “And you ain’t gettin’ away, see? You ain’t pulling any scramble-dodge on me.”
Asan pretended to look innocent. “Would I do some
thing like that, Udge?”
“Sure you would. I know you, Tobei. You’ve been gone a long time. Ever since you first began to run on Martok’s leash, you’ve been forgettin’ how well I know you. So you’re thinking right now that as soon as we pop ship, you’ll break and catch one going out. Only that won’t happen.”
“Even if I vanish into thin air?” asked Asan. He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”
Udge gripped his arm. “Where’s your heart now, Tobei?”
Asan pointed at the middle of his chest.
“I got a straight line to it as long as I hold your arm at this angle. Don’t forget the darts, Tobei. They’re powered. They’re faster than you.”
Asan couldn’t hold back his smile. “I don’t think so.”
“And what about the little dandy? Can she vanish too?”
Asan’s smile faded. He’d forgotten. For a moment he was angry at her.
But he shrugged. “You’re forgetting something with all these careful preparations, Udge.”
“What?”
“I should be flattered. You think more of my abilities than you used to.”
“Can that. What have I forgotten?”
“That I want to see Martok just as much as he wants to see me. I was on my way to him when you picked me up.”
Udge bellowed with laughter, shaking so that Asan was afraid he might accidentally trigger a dart.
“Oh, Tobei, you bloatwit,” he said at last, wiping his eyes. “You never could lie.”
“It’s true. I have a deal to offer him—”
“Flin! You were a GSI prisoner on your way to detention. A deal? Demos! Right now you’re squirming in your skull while you try to think up some way to get loose. I could always see you squirm, Tobei. It’s in your eyes. Even in those weird alien eyes. Martok ain’t gonna deal with you. If you’d come straight in when Security first got on your tail, then maybe. But not now.”
Asan gave it up. Udge wasn’t going to believe anything he said.
They disembarked into an airlock, passed through an alarming soft tunnel that billowed and shifted and made Asan nervous. He was always afraid the thing would puncture while he was in it, and he’d die eating space.
Requiem for Anthi: Anthi - Book Two Page 14
