“That was more than inappropriate, Tal. Laying hands on a subordinate during a duty shift? That’s actionable.”
“She wasn’t on duty.”
He checked his wristcom and rolled his eyes. Tal had avoided breaking the law by all of four ticks. “Well, I’m glad you feel better because not only did you give her reason to withdraw her oath of service, you broke a promise.”
“I had to. It was a stupid promise. Standing aside while she hurts Salomen? How long am I supposed to wait?”
“Exactly as long as it takes them to work it out! How are they going to do that now? Salomen won’t know whether Vellmar is acting out of friendship for her or fear of you.”
He saw the realization hit.
“Shek,” Tal groaned. “Salomen is going to be so angry with me.”
“For a brilliant strategist, you can be an idiot. Call Vellmar and tell her she’s still your Lead Guard. She needs to hear it from you.”
“Why would she—oh.”
“Tal,” he said in a quieter tone. “What is happening? This isn’t you. I have never seen you lay hands on a Guard except in the training room.”
She let her head drop back and stared up at the ceiling. “I have a theory. You won’t like it.”
“Probably not. I still need to know.”
After a long pause, she lifted her head and faced him. “When Salomen had her mindstorm, she and I were both . . . overwhelmed by the need to remove a threat. Lethally. I think what’s happening is that she purged herself of that need by acting it out.”
“And you didn’t.”
“No, it’s still there. Since I’m not doing what it wants, it’s spilling into other parts of my life. It feels like—” She put a hand on her stomach. “Like I’m hosting an alien entity, and I can barely control it unless I’m with Salomen. It’s calmer around her.”
“You’re right, I don’t like it. Is it there now?”
“Yes, but this is the quietest it’s ever been. Fahla, I can finally relax.” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and gave him a pained smile. “Isn’t it ironic? Salomen thought she was a monster, but the truth is, that monster is inside me.”
64
BELLBIRD
Salomen had never been on Blacksun Base without Andira.
Their official secondary residence was here, on this busy military base where Andira still held a ceremonial rank and the quarters that went with it. When they first bonded, Salomen had not understood why Andira would want to divide her time between two homes. It only took a few days of living in the State House for the reason to become abundantly clear.
Everyone in that building wanted something from Andira—and now from Salomen as well. Nothing could be taken at face value; every conversation held hidden undertones and meanings. For a person who had spent her life being brutally honest, such a constant drumbeat of obfuscation and backhanded dealing was exhausting. Not even a moon had passed before Salomen was the one asking for recovery time in their secondary quarters. She would rather be home at Hol-Opah, but on the days when that wasn’t possible, they often came here.
It helped that the base was so beautiful. It occupied the flat top of a hill—defensible, Andira had said, though Salomen didn’t think that was a consideration in modern times—and was surrounded on all sides by trees so tall their tops scraped the low clouds of winter. Salomen had spent many hanticks exploring the trails through this forest, usually with Andira or Fianna. The crisp, wild air here was unlike that of her own land and a far cry from the city scents of Blacksun.
She inhaled it now, closing her eyes in the warm sunshine and appreciating the relative quiet.
“You look more relaxed,” Ronlin said. “It’s good to see.”
“It’s good to feel.” She looked past him to the close-cropped central field, where twenty warriors were doing some sort of slow dance that involved thrusting fists and shouts and impressive feats of balance, all while synchronizing every move. “This is a life I never imagined. It’s like seeing those old books on my mother’s shelves come to life. She loved stories about warriors.”
“I’m sorry she’s not here with us.”
“I am, too. She would be asking you a thousand questions about your life.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “My life is not that interesting.”
“I’ve read your records, so I know that for the lie it is.” She set off down the brick path, smiling as he scrambled to keep up. “Warriors are cute when they’re embarrassed.”
“Please don’t ever use that word to describe me.”
“Embarrassed?”
She shamelessly enjoyed his exasperation, but that lightness slipped away as they neared the main building. Summoning up her courage, she asked, “Ronlin?”
“Yes?”
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
He said nothing until they were a few steps from the side entrance. A light touch on her arm made her stop, and she gathered that this was not a conversation he wanted to have indoors.
“Forgive my presumption,” he said. “But this is about Vellmar, yes?”
She could not meet his eyes, certain that he would see her pain. “I don’t understand why she’s still so afraid of me when you’re not. Or any of my Guards.”
“Your Guards aren’t afraid of you because I would transfer them to the middle of Fahlinor Bay if they were.”
That made her laugh. “I suppose that threat wouldn’t work on Fianna.”
“Not from me.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair, then settled into a more comfortable stance. “When I was a young trainee of seventeen, I learned a new move in class—a strike to the sternum. I wanted to show my birthfather. You know he’s a producer.” At her nod, he continued, “He didn’t know how dangerous that strike could be. I didn’t, either. He stood there, trusting me, while I hit him in the sternum. I thought it was a light enough blow to not do damage, but . . . I hit him too hard and too low.”
He put his hand against his chest, then slid it down. “Right here, at the base of the sternum. It pushed the tip of the bone into his heart. Put him in the healing center for two days.”
“Oh, no. Ronlin.”
“I have never felt so guilty in my life. Or wished so hard that I could turn back time. But he didn’t blame me. And he was never afraid of me.”
“Why would he—” She stopped. “That’s not the same thing at all.”
“It is, Bondlancer. I was trying something I had just learned, but I didn’t have the skills to do it safely. He knew I didn’t hurt him on purpose. Your Guards know it, too.”
A distant shout interrupted, twenty voices joined into one. Over in the central field, the warriors had ended their routine and were frozen in a pose with their fists thrust skyward. Their synchrony dissolved as they moved, some gathering to stand in conversational clusters while others scooped their jackets off the grass and began walking toward the barracks.
“Sometimes learning means getting hurt,” Ronlin said. “Accidents happen; we all know that. The only reason to be afraid is if accidents keep happening. I don’t think you’ll allow that.”
She shook her head. “We’re arranging for an instructor. I have to learn to control this.”
“And you will.”
She watched as a cluster of warriors laughed, their faces alight with enjoyment. Fianna laughed like that when she felt comfortable enough.
He seemed to read her mind. “I don’t know what’s happening with Vellmar. If it helps, I don’t think she does, either.”
“That doesn’t really help, but thank you.” She took the last few steps and waited as he opened the door. “And thank you for telling me your story. I’m glad you didn’t hurt your birthfather too badly.”
“No, but he’s been teasing me about it ever since. I’ll never stop paying for that one.”
The office Salomen sought was on the top floor of the building. As they entered the anteroom, an aide jumped to his feet in alarm.
“Bondlancer!” He bowed his head. “My apologies; I wasn’t informed of your meeting.”
“I didn’t make an appointment. Is the colonel available?”
“Ah . . .” He hesitated.
She had been in the State House long enough to know what that meant. Without another word, she strode past the speechless aide, opened the interior door, and stepped inside.
“Colonel Razine, may I have a moment of your time?”
The uniformed woman looked up from her reading with an expression of surprise that was swiftly wrestled beneath an impassive mask. “Bondlancer Opah, well met.” Razine stepped out from behind her massive desk and held up a palm.
She was average in height and stocky in build, the result of too many hanticks behind the desk. Her light brown hair was in a no-nonsense short cut, in contrast to the longer locks many warriors favored, and the corners of her eyes bore lines from cycles of laughter. She could have been mistaken for a nonthreatening grandmother, but Salomen knew better. Colonel Razine was the head of the Alsean Investigative Force, an extremely powerful and ruthless woman who had personally extracted the forced confession from Prime Merchant Parser.
Razine waved out her aide, who closed the door behind him. “Please sit, Bondlancer.” She waited until Salomen was settled in the surprisingly comfortable guest chair before retaking her own seat. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
“If you don’t already know the answer to that, you’re not what Andira says you are.”
A heavy pause passed before Razine’s eyes crinkled. “You’re not one for pleasantries, are you?”
“When they’re appropriate, yes, but otherwise I find them to be an enormous waste of time. And they fuel half the conversations in the State House.”
“Words for Fahla. It’s why I stay far away from that building.” Razine leaned back in her chair. “You’re here about the prosecution of First Guard Rahel Sayana.”
“Yes. I came to deliver Lead Templar Satran’s full report.” Salomen pulled out her reader card and tapped it open.
“In person,” Razine observed. “How intriguing. Are you going to explain why you refused to sign the charges?”
In answer, Salomen activated Lanaril’s report and handed it across the desk.
“Trauma shock. Not surprising.” Razine’s eyebrows rose as she read further. “Satran is invoking the Reduced Capacity Directive? That must have made Lancer Tal happy.”
“Andira is not the victim of the crime. I am.”
“And three of your Guards.”
“Who are also not pressing charges.”
“Even more intriguing. Of course, we have Sayana’s previous crimes as well. Kidnapping and forced detainment of your brother, and assault with an energy weapon on Colonel Micah. Who almost didn’t live to press charges.”
“Reduced Capacity Directive,” Salomen reminded her. “You cannot prosecute her as an individual fully capable of understanding her decisions or their consequences.”
“Oh, come now, Bondlancer. You dislike pleasantries, so let’s speak plainly. Sayana was capable and understood enough to overcome three high empath Guards and take you hostage. That shouldn’t have been possible for a mid empath warrior at the peak of her abilities, much less one so . . . compromised.”
“All that tells you is that she’s an extremely skilled warrior.”
“So skilled that she’s gotten you on her side. How did she manage that?”
“She apologized. And then allowed me to sit with her through several days of intensive therapy. In skin contact, much of the time.”
Razine stared at her in silence before carefully setting down the reader card. “I heard some interesting things about Pollonius. Involving powers no one has ever seen before.” When that got no response, she tapped the reader card. “You almost killed this woman.”
“That’s one story,” Salomen said.
Razine let out an amused huff. “You’ve already learned some State House tactics, Bondlancer. I don’t think it’s a story at all. I think you pushed yourself so far into this woman’s mind that you can’t get back out again.”
“I have no connection with Rahel other than what she has allowed.”
“Rahel. You’re on a first-name basis.” Her gaze was sharp. “This is a decidedly strange case. You have powers that could eliminate all of your bondmate’s enemies and consolidate her leadership for a lifetime. You could take that leadership, though it’s obvious you don’t want it. And yet you sit here trying to find a legal way of subverting justice on behalf of your first victim.”
“My only victim, if I have anything to say about it,” Salomen retorted.
With a broad smile, Razine said, “Thank you for confirming my guess.”
Salomen sat startled, then gave a rueful shake of her head. One day, she would learn to think before speaking. “That was a fine trap. What did it get you?”
“The truth. I prefer it at all times. So tell me the truth, Bondlancer. Why would a woman you empathically violated let you sit in on her therapy sessions? In skin contact, no less? Did you force her to trust you?”
Razine had worked near-miracles on Andira’s behalf in the frightening days after the assassination attempt. She was not a person to get on the wrong side of, but Andira said she was trustworthy.
Salomen took the gamble.
“I wouldn’t know how, and even if I did know, I’d never do it. She trusts me because she thinks I’m the vessel of Fahla.”
“Are you?”
That was the last question Salomen had expected. She opened her mouth, shut it again, and finally said, “If I am, she didn’t bother to tell me about it. Or give me any instructions. I’d expect more of our goddess.”
Razine made a small choking sound, then leaned back and laughed. “Oh, that was the highlight of my day. Probably of the nineday.” With a more sober expression, she crossed her hands on the desk. “There’s some precedent for what you’re doing with her—the supervised meetings between the Voloth and the high empaths who turned them. Most of those high empaths are wracked with guilt.”
“Is it helping them?”
“Surprisingly, yes. It seems our templars and mental healers can occasionally be right. I suspect Satran is working on you and Sayana at the same time.” She shot Salomen a knowing glance and continued, “But guilt is not a reason to subvert justice.”
“Before we discuss my guilt any further, why don’t you finish reading that report?”
Razine regarded her with a perfectly blank expression, then picked up the reader card.
The windows behind her gave a spectacular view of the forest stretching into the distance. Far away, the Blacksun skyline lifted its shoulders above the horizon. Salomen thought the city looked more beautiful from here than it did up close.
Her gaze drifted closer, to the treetops slowly ruffling their leaves in the afternoon breeze. She had worn practical shoes today, anticipating that she would be in dire need of a walk after this meeting. She could almost feel the spongy forest duff beneath her feet and wondered if this would be the day she might see the elusive bellbird. A resident of dense forest, it was not a bird Salomen was familiar with. Fianna was the one who had identified it for her, based solely on its glorious song. But they had never found the singer.
The quiet click of a reader card being set down drew her attention.
“Shantu was her father,” Razine said slowly. “That is most unexpected.”
“More her father than the biological one,” Salomen confirmed. “He threw her into the Battle of Alsea because he had to, but when it was over, she was one of the first people he thought of. Did you get to the section on Brasalara?”
“Yes. But this is the part that Satran wrote for the eyes of an adjudicator.” Razine cleared her throat and began reading aloud. “‘Given the psychological depth of their association, it was not Prime Warrior Shantu who issued illegal orders to Sayana. It was her father who warned her that Alsea was in danger and a
sked her to help him save it. After fighting a battle in which she was asked to break our highest law to save Alsea, breaking lesser laws for the same purpose would not have seemed unreasonable. She was sick with trauma shock, conditioned from the age of seventeen to obey the man she saw as her father, and compromised both mentally and emotionally. In sum, Rahel Sayana was in a perfect set of circumstances to break an honorable warrior and turn her into a weapon. Perhaps it is not surprising that when Shantu issued these orders, he called Sayana his secret weapon.’” She scowled. “That man died too easily.”
With that, Salomen knew the colonel was convinced. “Lead Templar Satran believes he also had trauma shock.”
“Shantu?” Razine scoffed. “I can’t think of anyone less likely to be traumatized by killing or breaking Voloth.”
“That’s what Rahel said. Lead Templar Satran told her that trauma shock has many causes. For Shantu, it might have been the trauma of losing so many warriors and scholars under his command, and seeing the damage done to Whitesun. It was his home city, but he couldn’t save it from being the worst hit on Alsea.”
Razine hummed thoughtfully. “I did find it odd that his family was here, yet he never seemed grateful that Blacksun came through almost unscathed.”
“Because aliens kept it safe.” Salomen was still impressed with how Lanaril had put this together. “One group of aliens cost him dearly, while another protected the city of his greatest opponent. It must have seemed so unfair.”
“And Satran thinks he developed trauma shock from that?”
“From the losses, his helplessness to stop them, the fact that the Gaians protected Blacksun but not Whitesun . . .” Salomen spread her hands. “There could be causes we’re not seeing. But trauma shock would explain his personality change. The stories Rahel has told us—I didn’t know that Shantu. That’s not the Prime Warrior who tried to overthrow our government and kill Andira. Rahel served an honorable man.”
Razine sat back in her chair. “I always thought so, too, until the end. I’ve wondered for moons how I could have misjudged him that badly.”
“Lead Templar Satran says that fear can consume almost anything, including honor. Shantu was afraid of aliens and the changes they were bringing, so he did everything he could to stop both. She also told me, out of Rahel’s hearing, that there’s a rumor of Shantu having an affair.”
Outcaste Page 41
