Leave it alone? How could he say that?
They were ripping apart two years of careful, intense work after their team’s undeniable success this morning. How could he not be furious as well? It made no sense. She turned back to the tech, anger refreshed.
“Who gave the order?” Erelah asked, barring the nameless tech’s way, a move she would not ordinarily consider, but at least he stopped and looked at her.
“You know who. Defensor Tristic.”
The tech sidestepped her and returned to his task without a second glance.
“Defensor Tristic?”
But there was no reply.
Adan tugged her back to the door. He leaned in against her. “It’s not worth it. Not when she’s involved.”
She looked up at Adan. His features pulled into pensive, worried lines.
“You can’t be serious.”
Not Adan, too. He couldn’t possibly buy into the tall tales about the seldom-seen commander of Ravstar, the overseeing division of NeuTech. As far as Erelah was concerned, Defensor Tristic was a rubberstamped name on reports and communications. For all she cared or knew, she was some detached bureaucrat that seldom took interest in the tiny, under-resourced projects at the frayed edges of nowhere—like their installation.
She had heard the stories when she first came to the station: Tristic was a Sceeloid half-breed, functioning with seeming impunity on behalf of the Council of First. But she had always thought they were just that, stories. Now, something in Adan’s expression told her otherwise.
“This is ridiculous,” Erelah said. “Tristic has no right to come in and just take what’s ours.”
“She does. And she can.” He shook his head. “It never belonged to us, Erelah. This all belongs to NeuTech. NeuTech belongs to Ravstar. Ravstar has the final word.”
“Truly? And I’m also to believe children’s tales about some Sceeloid mongrel—”
“Quiet!” Adan pushed her into the corridor. Surprised, she stumbled against the wall.
He shut the door to the lab. “Be careful, Erelah!”
“Careful?”
“Tristic has eyes and ears everywhere,” he hissed.
“You’re serious?”
But he would not look at her. Instead, he leaned against the jamb, arms folded as he focused on a point on the wall.
“This has to be a mistake. We just had a breakthrough.” Erelah planted her hands on her hips. Her brain raced through options, scenarios as she began to pace. There had to be some logical explanation behind this.
“There is no mistake when Tristic is involved. The whole reason they’re here is because of the Jocosta’s success today,” he replied, flatly.
She stopped, mid-pace. “How’d she even find out?”
Adan squirmed, turning the motion into a shrug. But he did not look away from the tiny spot on the wall. He sounded as if he were reading a contract:
“All project records are subject to review.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Erelah stared at him. The tiny hairs stood up on her arms.
“This wasn’t meant to happen like this. Myrna wasn’t even supposed to be in the bloody lab. They would have seized the records and equipment. And we would have moved on to the next project.”
“You told Tristic! Why? You knew we still had more work to do. There’s the velo field instability, the possibility of chrono-slip. Any one of a thousand things could still go wrong—”
“Ravstar expects results. That’s how this works, Erelah,” said Adan. “This isn’t one of your damned Kindred society functions. There are no polite rules. Defensor Tristic isn’t some functionary with an empty title.”
“Someone has to go to the Defensor. This is ridiculous. She has to understand that this is a mistake. That we need more time.”
Adan gave a curt laugh. “A novel idea.”
“I’ll go. Tonight, before they destroy the whole lab,” Erelah said. “Come with me.”
“You don’t get how this works.” He gaped at her, then looked away. “Your uncle really did lock you away from the Worlds, didn’t he? This is no place for a naive girl. You should have gone off to the convent, little priestess. It would have been far safer for you to stay on Argos.”
Erelah glared at him. Oh, Uncle. How right you were about these people.
“Perhaps you are right, Adan,” she replied, lifting her chin. “This is not my place, but it’s the life I have chosen. And this is the right thing to do.”
Drawing her shoulders back, she turned on her heel. Despite her movements, a vague tremor began in her knees. It was as if Adan’s apprehension were contagious.
She was already striding to the level riser when Adan rushed to catch up.
“Erelah, stop! You don’t know what you’re doing. Don’t confront Tristic.”
“I’m simply going to talk to her. Try to make her understand.”
She looked at him levelly. As if on a dare, she pressed the button, calling for the command tier. The doors opened promptly.
“Erelah. I’m begging you. Don’t.” He put a hand inside the closing door, trying to bar the lift from leaving.
“I’ll come right back.” Gently, but firmly, she removed his hand from the doorframe. “Promise.”
The doors closed. Erelah never saw Adan Titus again.
---
“Wait here.”
That was all the pinched-faced attendant said before disappearing into the darker recesses of the command tier. The entire level apparently belonged to Tristic. An opulent allowance for anyone with the rank of Defensor.
As she stood there, Erelah resisted the urge to tug at the cuffs of her jacket. The high collar pinched at the neck. The material was too new. Smelling of synthetic materials and esters, it itched fiercely.
She was very poor at waiting. Even as a child she would fidget and sway on her feet and think of the endless tick of seconds that she could be using elsewhere.
Count to ten. Breathe. Just like Uncle used to teach us.
Uncle had warned us, hadn’t he?
She had been unprepared for the bureaucracy of NeuTech, but not entirely surprised, considering Uncle’s long-winded rants during supper in the great echoing hall of their home. His tirades had worsened when Jon ran away to join the Regime. Her brother’s departure seemed to weaken the towering Helio Veradin. His ensuing illness was little surprise to Erelah or to the servants that remained.
That was long ago. And Tristic was not Uncle, although probably just as aloof and secluded.
The stories claimed Tristic was the product of experimentation from a time before genetics tampering was commonplace. In an effort to further understand and control the enemy Sceeloid, hybridization experiments were sanctioned with Eugenes subjects. And as the only success, Tristic had been permitted to live. However, seeing a hybrid rise to the title of Defensor was impressive and a plain testament to this odd being’s talents. The gossip claimed she was nearly preternaturally intelligent and, understandably, fixated in her hated of the Sceeloid.
They say she can read your mind. See the color of your emotions. She knows truth from lies by just gazing upon you…
Erelah gave a strange, nervous giggle. Even someone as well-educated and savvy as Adan Titus was convinced by these rumors. Ridiculous. If she were to believe such stories, she might as well find a more imaginative one. Perhaps Tristic ate people as well, like Sceelo, the great dragon of myth.
“The Defensor will see you, Lady Veradin.”
She knew that voice and cringed internally as she turned. Lieutenant Maynard had crept into the room behind her. His hands were folded behind his back as he stood over the Ravstar emblem set into the high gloss of the floor.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Erelah kept her expression blank, hiding her revulsion.
He nodded to her slightly, respect absent. She received the distinct impression he was very aware of the image he presented in his prissy special ops uniform that she secretly detested. Certainly he r
eveled in his role as the Defensor’s new second. No one had dared to speculate on what had become of the previous aide.
Since Maynard’s assignment to the installation, Erelah had interacted with him only twice before. There was something that struck her as simply off about him. Perhaps it was the way he watched everything with his dark little eyes, or his constant smoothing of his own uniform, as if to call attention to his special rank.
On their second encounter he had cornered her in the officer’s lounge, being so bold as to invite her to share down time in one of those disgusting chambers they called rec suites. Erelah had burst into laughter. At the time she had honestly thought he was joking. This odd little man was asking her to…
She smirked. Maynard’s expression soured, seeming to guess the course of her thoughts. For the moment her anxiety was forgotten as she followed him into the adjoining chamber where Tristic waited.
11
Defensor Tristic waited at the farthest end of the suite, propped in a plush chair on a raised dais. The lights were dim. Erelah could discern only a misshapen form with a stooped back and sinewy arms. A medical attendant hovered obediently nearby until Tristic dismissed him with a flick of her gloved hand. Erelah felt her dread thicken.
“Consultant Veradin, I trust you were not waiting long.” The words were spoken in High Eugenes, but the voice that carried them was a peculiar reverberation to it, almost mechanical.
The diction and accent were nearly perfect. Except for the silly game she had played with Adan, Erelah rarely heard High Eugenes spoken among the personnel of the NeuTech installation. She most certainly did not expect to hear it now, in this time or place.
“Defensor Tristic.” She nodded stiffly, secretly grateful for the move to High Eugenes. It was the only language she had spoken most of her life. Commonspeak was used for interacting with servants and common Citizens. Even terse Regimental still proved difficult for her at times. “I was not waiting long.”
“You are a horrid liar, Veradin.” Tristic uttered a strange grinding sound. Erelah realized it was a laugh.
The Defensor made another gesture, summoning Maynard to her elbow. They conspired in a secret conference. The lieutenant looked up at Erelah as he listened to his superior. That same dread seemed to harden in her stomach. She watched as Maynard, almost tenderly, helped the Defensor step down off the dais.
“Leave us, Lieutenant.” Tristic gave a regal wave of her gloved hand, her full attention on Erelah.
She thinks herself queen here. And the outcast aberration was granting an audience to a member of the Kindred. Tristic enjoyed this, Erelah realized.
“Yes, Defensor.” Maynard nodded, faltering slightly. An almost disappointed expression flit over the aide’s face. His dark eyes fell over Erelah as he clipped past her.
The doors shut, echoing in the vast chamber. And she was alone with the queen of a strange dominion.
This was a mistake. I should have listened to Adan.
Erelah felt cold, uncertain, but she tried her best to stave off the spreading apprehension. Clasping her hands at her waist, she drew her shoulders back. Old Sissa would have been happy.
You are a Daughter of the Veradin Kindred. Act like it.
Although her earlier anger from seeing the lab pulled apart had evaporated, she tried to draw fuel from that pride.
“I owe you congratulations on your recent success on the j-drive project. What is it you titled it… Jocosta, I believe? It is a stunning achievement for your team,” Tristic purred as she moved with sure, firm steps into a circle of light cast by one of the room’s few glow spheres. Erelah could not help but stare at what that light revealed.
Miri was blind to permit such a monstrosity.
Tristic was as hideous as the rumors described. Her features most definitely spoke of a Sceeloid heritage: the pale, nearly translucent skin covered in a layer of fine scales, pointed angular features, blue-tinted lips on a mouth that looked like a gash. But the eyes. The eyes were incongruous in that face. They were a dark, somber brown, suggesting the purest of Eugenes bloodlines.
As a child, Erelah would have given anything for eyes that color.
Perhaps that is what made her stare the most. It was the summation of this the hybrid’s strangeness.
“Yes, Project Jocosta. Thank you… Defensor,” she stumbled, realizing she had not yet replied and had simply been staring. She was uncertain of the protocol in addressing Tristic. Old Sissa had never mentioned grotesque hybrids in her lessons on manners.
“Hideous, am I not, Consultant Veradin?” Tristic asked. That odd mechanical buzz followed. An errant shaft of light picked out the cause. Embedded in the skin in Tristic’s throat was a small piece of tech, resembling a vox. It was the source of the noise. Speech augmentation, Erelah realized with a shudder.
“No matter,” Tristic offered. “Over the years I have grown used to such… reception.”
“Apolo… apologies, Defensor,” Erelah stammered. Mouth gone dry, she tried to swallow.
She could no longer fathom why it seemed so important to have demanded this interview. Her nerve had long fled, and her next words seemed to come from someone else.
“The j-drive may seem successful, but I come to ask why you have taken the project from my team? There is still much to prove before the vessel is worthy. For instance, there is the destabilization of the subspace field. At too close a distance to a larger vessel’s velo engines, the j-drive can cause a catastrophic failure in—”
“I’m aware. I’m aware,” Tristic replied, her voice seemingly distracted. She stepped closer. Erelah became aware of a strange odor: a nearly sweet-smelling stench. The smell of water jasmine and rot.
“Tell me. How is it that you do not prefer to employ your hereditary title of Lady Veradin? It sounds far more elegant.”
She paused, trying to guess the wayward pattern of this conversation.
“In honesty, Defensor, it’s just a title. The equivalent should have belonged to my brother, Jonvenlish, as he’s elder. I would be happier if that were the case.” Unbidden, Erelah gave a nervous tittering laugh. This was not at all what she had planned.
How do I take my leave now? I should have never come here.
“Yes. The dashing Captain Jonvenlish Veradin. Quite the specimen of Kindred valor, I understand.” To Erelah, her tone seemed to mock. “Has his own battalion of breeders… forgive me… Volunteers… to command. You must be quite proud. Is he as handsome as you are lovely, Lady Veradin?”
Erelah strained a smile. “You flatter, ma’am.”
“ʽLet us be judged by our actions, not by our titles,’” Tristic said, quoting one of Helio Veradin’s tomes.
Still playing the game, Erelah fell back to the patter of courtly dialogue. “You honor me, Defensor, and his memory, to be a student of Uncle’s writing.”
“Helio Veradin was a principled man during an unprincipled time. Yet there are those who saw him as a traitor for his support of the Human invaders.”
Erelah stiffened, but did not reply. This was dangerous ground. To speak in his defense could brand her a traitor. But she could never dishonor the man who raised her.
Tristic seemed to move with a grace incongruous to her form as she circled closer still. The cloying water jasmine and rot nearly overpowered now.
“You were born to the Veradin Kindred, then?”
“My brother and I were children of Uncle’s servants. He named us as wards and heirs after their deaths.”
Erelah tried not to look directly at those eyes. Instead, she focused on the junction of Tristic’s neck and shoulder, the sway of her dark cloak, the glimmer of the Defensor crest affixed to her collar.
“Have you ever encountered a Human, Veradin?”
Tristic stalked in a slow predatory circle around her.
“Ma’am?” She faltered. “No. Never.”
“Vile creatures, really. Substandard, yet almost… endearingly imperfect.” The Defensor muttered distractedly as
she paused to activate an interface console. Her attention was fully back on Erelah as she asked, “What do you know of the Human infection of Eugenes space?”
This was beginning to feel like an interrogation.
“As much as any Citizen. It has been nearly thirty years since the Purge.” She turned to follow Tristic as she resumed pacing. “They invaded our territories and conspired with the Sceeloid against us.”
“Rote and memory answer. Like a student’s. That is not the complete truth.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There are those who have suggested that the Humans were the fabled Palari, the lost ancients. After all, it would explain their appearance and their nearly identical physiology to the Eugenes.”
“That is one view.” Be careful, Erelah.
The Defensor was looking through already well-trampled soil. Helio Veradin had been vilified over and again for his defense of the alien invaders that breached Eugenes space, calling themselves Human. As much as she loved her uncle and sought to protect his memory, Erelah had no wish to share his fate. The days of the Purge were well gone. The Humans had been erased. Yet this strange creature before her, for some inexplicable reason, appeared driven to revive it all.
“Your sect, the Miri sect, shared this view. And the devout, like your uncle, bore the punishment for their heretical teachings.”
“The Humans are not the Palari,” Erelah said quickly. “The Palari are a thing of myth. The Council of First declared it so.” It was the expected response.
Humans had been in their infancy of interstellar travel when they literally stumbled upon Eugenes territory. They looked like any Eugenes. But they lacked uniformity; they were the embodiment of chaos. It was firmly rooted in their very nature. Every size, every shape, every combination of coloring. They spoke many tongues and carried all manner of gods with them. The beings never had a chance. Uncle had told the story many times, his face etched in sadness in the glow of the hearth. He would often speak of it after their pilgrimages to the decrepit little shrine of Miri that had been erected on Argos ages ago.
Allies and Enemies: Fallen Page 9
