Marianne kept her voice flat. “Citizen Russell.”
“Ouch.” Adeline looked hurt. “Why so formal?”
“You’re a spook.” Adeline made no move to deny it, so Marianne took the initiative. “What do you want?”
“Straight and to the point – I like that about you.” She smiled winningly. Marianne didn’t react, and the smile faded. Adeline cleared her throat. “Right. Here’s the deal. Earth wants you back. You can name your price, any price. Money, prestige, fame, even a certain amount of political power. Almost anything you want. Just name it.”
“What if I wanted to be Earth’s representative to the Terosha Federation?”
Adeline went wide-eyed, speechless for a moment. “It would take some time,” she said slowly, “and you’d need stillness training, but it could be arranged.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“No joke, Marianne. You want it, you got it. Is that the deal?”
“No.”
Adeline deflated a little. “Marianne,” she said, “tell me what you want, really. I just want to help.”
Dishonesty colored her voice like a grotesque rainbow. It nettled Marianne. “Oh really? Is that what you were trying to do when you convinced Admiral Howard to phase me off Tolar against my will? Helping? Is that what you were trying to do when you convinced him to try sneaking back into Tolari space? When you convinced him to disobey the Sural’s order to leave?”
Adeline’s eyes flicked off-screen and back. Got you, Marianne thought. Who’s watching you now? “His death is on your head, you know,” she continued. “He’d be alive if you hadn’t pushed him to force the issue.”
“That’s not fair.”
“How’s Laura?”
Adeline leaned back. “I’m going to recommend that mid-afternoon is a better time to call you,” she said. “You’re brutal when you first wake up.”
Marianne gave her a grim smile. “Just how high up the food chain are you in Central Command Security?”
“I’ll answer that when you tell me who took the locater chip out of your head. And how they did it.”
“I’m a linguist, not a physician.” Marianne grimaced. “Poor Smitty. And he told so many people what a great intelligence operative you’d make.” She leaned forward. “I’ll tell you what I want,” she said in a low voice.
“I’m listening.”
“I want you to leave me alone. A schoolteacher with no family can’t possibly be worth all this trouble. Keep trying to abduct me, and the Sural will never reestablish diplomatic relations with Earth.”
All expression drained from Adeline’s face. She nodded. “I’ll pass that on to Central Command.” She stopped while reaching for the comms switch and asked in a cheery voice, “By the way, Marianne, I just have to know – when are you due?”
Marianne’s jaw dropped. Adeline laughed merrily and cut the connection.
The Sural stood and crossed the room to sit on the edge of her desk.
“How did she know I’m increasing?” she asked in stark disbelief.
He glanced back at the blank monitor screen for a long moment, rubbing his chin. “She is very good at the science of observation, for a human.”
“And to think I believed she was just the Ambassador’s pious, if somewhat brazen, wife.”
“She was never just the Ambassador’s wife.”
“I wonder what else she figured out...”
“There is no way to know.”
She changed the subject. “I didn’t have the nightmare last night.”
“I know,” he said with a glad smile. “Still, you seem discontented.”
“I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” she answered, looking away. “I just wish – I just wish – I don’t like knowing that sooner or later, you’re going to take joy in another woman.”
The Sural laughed. He really laughed. Then he took a look at her face and laughed even harder, collapsing onto a chair and dissolving into mirth. Several minutes passed before he could get control of himself. A smile crept onto her face as she watched him. He wiped away the tears of laughter and pulled her down in the chair with him to fold her in a hug.
“Oh beloved,” he sighed with a chortle. He sniggered and stifled another laugh. “When a man is bonded, it is not the same,” he added, resuming his composure.
“Yes, but still—” Pain lanced through her middle. She doubled over.
“Marianne!”
The world spun and went dark.
* * *
Marianne realized she was awake, a long while later. Her thoughts flowed like mud.
Something was wrong.
She opened her eyes and found herself on a bed in the apothecaries’ quarters. There was something she should be concerned about ... The thought slipped away. She tried to sit up but floundered, tangled in a sheet. An apothecary appeared and pressed her back down.
“High one,” he said, “you must lie still. We are trying to save your child.”
She should be upset by that. Child... child... what about the child...needed saving? Why? Her senses tickled. The Sural appeared at her bedside, his face an impassive mask, distress whirling through him. The baby, she thought. He’s worried about the baby. She frowned. Tolari don’t worry.
He put a hand on her cheek. She tried to look back at him, but her eyes wandered, refusing to focus.
“She is barely conscious, high one,” a voice above her said. “It is doubtful she is lucid enough to realize you are here.”
“Will the child survive?” the Sural asked.
“Perhaps,” said Cena’s voice from somewhere in the room. “But more likely not.”
A stab of grief sliced through her. She couldn’t tell if it was hers or the Sural’s.
“Do all you can,” he said, his voice devoid of expression.
“Of course, high one.”
He disappeared from view, but she could sense him nearby, watching. She sighed and let darkness envelop her.
* * *
“So,” the voice said, “you say she’s not answering her comms.”
“That’s correct, sir,” Adeline replied.
“And you’re certain she’s pregnant with this – alien’s – get?” Disgust filled the voice.
“Oh, absolutely. She’s the Sural’s wife, you know, and there’s only one reason a woman glows like that.”
“So they’re probably taking care of her, if she’s pregnant with the Tolari leader’s brat. How did that happen?”
Adeline’s lips twitched. “The usual way, I suspect.”
“Citizen Russell—” the voice began to say in a dangerous tone.
“The Tolari are nearly human,” she interrupted. “They’re really just a racial variant, when it comes down to it, possibly derived from North American aboriginals, to judge by their appearance. The brains at the science board think that they’re descended from us – or we’re descended from them – but one way or the other we can produce viable offspring with them.”
“You miss my point, Citizen Russell. Marianne Woolsey is physically unable to conceive or carry a child. She had herself sterilized at the age of eighteen. We’ve got to get a look at her just for that, but the more important issue is that we need to know what she knows. After eight years of living with them, she’s sure to have the information we want.”
“No ship we send into Tolari space ever gets near the planet,” Adeline pointed out. She heard an oath and the impact of a fist on a desk.
“See what you can do about that.”
“I’ll do what I can, sir.”
“See that you do.”
The comms light winked out.
* * *
Reaction shot through the stronghold. It was more than just the ripples that sometimes ran through the guard when something surprising happened; this was more like a series of empathic shocks. The Sural, reluctantly but dutifully working in his private study while Marianne’s daughter hovered at the edge of the dark, looked up from
a report and signaled a guard to investigate.
There was nothing he could do for Marianne or her child while she lay unconscious. He cursed himself a fool for failing to realize that she had not bonded with her daughter, that she had believed her daughter’s discontent to be her own and pushed her away. The child, starved for her mother’s bond, was on the brink of death.
The guard returned moments after leaving him, pouring with emotion she was too overwhelmed to control.
“Speak,” he ordered.
“High one, it is the Jorann!”
He bolted for the door, skidding into the corridor outside his quarters to bow low. The Jorann – tall for a woman, fair, and yellow-haired – stopped in front of him, her expression solemn. She carried an ornate crystal box full of something white. Her blessing.
“Grandson,” she said. “You are distressed.”
There was no point in denying it. “Yes, highest. You honor us with your presence.”
“Take me to the Marann.”
“Yes, highest.” He indicated the direction with one arm, gave another small bow, and turned to lead the way.
Marianne was still unconscious when they entered the apothecaries’ quarters. The Jorann waved the bowing apothecaries away and went to her bedside, opening the crystal box as she walked.
“What is her condition?” she asked.
“The Marann is in shock,” Cena answered, “but we have stopped her hemorrhaging. There is no danger to her life. I do not think we can save the child.”
“Wake the Marann.”
“Yes, highest,” Cena said, and pressed an instrument against Marianne’s neck.
Marianne stirred. She opened her eyes, saw the Jorann, and looked vaguely puzzled before her eyes meandered away.
“You have been somewhat mishandled,” the Jorann told her. Marianne’s eyes wandered back toward the Jorann’s face. “My children sometimes forget to mention the important things.” She took a small cube from the box and held it over Marianne’s lips. “Open,” she commanded, and dropped it into Marianne’s mouth.
She fed her a second and third cube and closed the box. Then she placed a hand on Marianne’s belly and closed her eyes, brows furled, lips pressed into a thin line. “There you are, my tiny one,” she whispered. “Come back. Feel our love. You will not go into the dark today.” She opened her eyes and nodded toward the Sural. “Join me.”
He glanced at Marianne, then back to the Jorann, and nodded. Lightly, he placed a hand next to the Jorann’s and sent his senses out, seeking the little life, finding it, attempting to warm it. He caressed the spark, but it rejected him. It wanted Marianne.
The Jorann took Marianne’s hand. “Now you,” she told her. “I know you do not know how. You must try. Find your bond-partner and follow us.”
He held his breath as Marianne reached for him with her senses and found the empathic flow. She floundered, uncertain at first, before she grasped what she needed to do and followed it toward her child. The little one seized onto her, brightening. Relief flooded through him.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Marianne murmured incoherently in English, comforting her child, but soon exhausted what little energy she had and slipped back into unconsciousness. The spark flickered. The Jorann, somehow grasping hold of his senses, wove them around the minute life. It brightened again and steadied, a tiny flame of need that burrowed into him and drew on his strength. He gave it all it wanted. After a time, it let go and drifted away, content.
When he opened his eyes, the Jorann was gone.
Chapter Five
The Sural made time to be present when his apothecary released Marianne.
“The Jorann orders that you consume two each day, high one,” Cena said, giving the crystal box in her hands a small shake.
Marianne nodded and slid off the bed, her legs wobbling. He slipped an arm around her waist to hold her steady. As they made their slow way out the door and through the main corridor, the apothecary rattled off a list of medical orders. He committed it to memory. It seemed unlikely his exhausted bond-partner would remember much, if any of it.
“High ones,” Cena said when she was finished. She bowed and went back to her work.
He helped Marianne to a divan in her sitting room and took a seat beside her, drawing her close. She nestled into him. “Beloved,” she breathed into his shoulder.
“Beloved,” he said.
She drifted into sleep, not stirring through the long afternoon. He was still holding her, reading reports on his tablet, when she woke.
“Hi,” she said.
He smiled down at her, stifling a chuckle. Her mind must still be confused with exhaustion to use that word. The simple English greeting was a mild expletive in many Tolari dialects, including Suralian.
“Beloved,” he replied, pocketing his tablet. “It is past time for the evening meal. Are you hungry?”
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, stretching.
He ordered a servant to bring food and drink. “How do you feel?” he asked, turning back to her.
“Sleepy,” she replied. “I—” She frowned, glancing toward her midsection.
He probed. Her daughter was discontented.
“You must commune with your child,” he said. “Do you remember how?”
“I think so.” He felt her reaching into herself, but she was tentative, uncertain.
“Follow me,” he said. He placed his hand on her belly, seeking the tiny spark living there, sending warmth and love to it. She followed. The little one clung to her, seeking comfort. Marianne cooed aloud, stroking her belly with her hand as she caressed her daughter with her senses.
He smiled with relief. “Yes,” he whispered, letting his senses hover around them. He watched the little spark calm and brighten. “She has been starved. She will need to commune frequently for a time.”
Marianne nodded, eyes closed.
A short while later, he sensed the child let go of her mother, content. Marianne opened her eyes and glanced at the trencher of food and steaming carafe of tea the servants had placed on the low table in her sitting room. He poured the tea and offered a mug to her.
“I hope I haven’t permanently hurt my daughter,” she said. She chewed on her lower lip. “Sometimes when I was irritable, it was her, and I was pushing her away.” Tears glittered in her eyes.
“She is strong, or she would not have survived as long as she did,” he said. “If harm has been done, we all bear some responsibility. My apothecary should have noticed – I should have noticed – you were not bonding with your child and taught you to do so. However,” he added, taking a mug of tea for himself and sipping at it, “it is best to focus on what needs to be done for her now.”
She nodded and grabbed some food. He joined her, eating heartily. He sensed her amusement growing as he consumed most of the food on the trencher. He shrugged. “I am not a small man.”
“No,” she agreed, “you definitely aren’t. Well over two meters.”
He laughed. “Humans must measure everything, including people.”
“And Tolari don’t?”
“To what end?”
She shook her head. “I bless the happy chance that made me average. Life on Earth is easier when you’re average.”
“You are not average, beloved. You are exceptional. And,” he added, pulling her into his arms, “so very beautiful.”
She gave a soft snort and leaned into him, curling up with her tea. He sensed her begin to grow drowsy.
“Perhaps you should go to your mat to rest,” he said.
“I can’t believe I’m sleepy again. I just woke up.”
“My apothecary said that you will sleep a great deal for some days.”
“Your apothecary.” She frowned.
He looked down at her, cautious of the sudden shift in her mood.
“I’ve been sharing your apothecary with you since—”
“—you tried to run off the edge of the plateau,” he finished. “It
was best to put you in her care. My health presents her with few concerns in any case.”
“Why her?”
“She is the best I have, and you were initiating personal conversations with her. It seemed wise to provide you with a friend as well as an apothecary.”
Marianne’s mood shifted again with an almost audible slam. “‘Provide me with a friend’?” She pulled away from him, eyes blazing. “Who are you to ‘provide me with a friend’? Don’t I get any choice in the matter?” She turned her back on him, shaking with rage.
He stared at her, startled by her vehemence. He put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. Perplexed and alarmed, he said, “I thought it best. Do you not need friends? Do you not remember how afflicted you were by the lack of them during your first few seasons on Tolar?”
“That was different,” she snapped.
“You seemed interested in talking with my apothecary.”
“How am I ever going to know if she really wanted to talk with me?”
“If she had not, she would not have come to me for permission to be familiar with you,” he replied. “I do not understand your anger.”
“You’re controlling my whole life!”
“Should I not?”
“No!”
Surprise lifted his eyebrows. “I am the Sural,” he said. “It is my duty to see to the needs of those under my protection. You needed a friend. I gave her permission to try.”
Blood rushed to her face, giving her a charming glow. He pushed down the delight it inspired in him. He dared not allow it to affect him now.
“You asked her? Didn’t she get any say?”
“Beloved, you must be calm. Remember your child.”
Marianne took a deep breath and clamped her jaw. “Well thank you,” she said, her voice an angry hiss. “Now I’ll never know who really likes me around here and who’s just being nice because you told them to be.”
She stood on shaky legs, glared, and hurled her mug at his head. He snatched it out of the air almost without thinking, the hot tea splashing onto the rug behind him. It only seemed to anger her more. She turned and stalked unsteadily into her sleeping room, grabbing the door and slamming it behind her. Muffled weeping followed. He sighed. Joining her now would only make the situation worse.
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