Dushau tdt-1

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  “And so do I,” brazened Krinata, hoping the Camidan couldn’t read the quaver in her voice. “Observe.” She pointed her leptolizer, prayed Arlai’s handiwork would stand the inspection of the bigger, newer, ground-based Sentient in charge of the hospital, and projected the Emperor’s figure onto the deep violet carpet between herself and the director.

  “Director Ithrenth,” said the Emperor briskly, “this is to countermand my previous orders. Release the prisoner, Jindigar, into Lady Krinata Zavaronne’s hands immediately. This is of utmost urgency to the Crown’s investigations, and complete security procedures must be followed. I’m sure you understand. The Empire is depending on you.”

  Ithrenth touched a control and the screen lit to show a Treptian neuter simulacrum who said, “The Lady’s orders are authenticated, Director. Instant compliance is indicated.”

  Ithrenth seemed disappointed, but he said staunchly, “Of course. Skindel, issue the appropriate orders. Have the Dushau Jindigar brought to North Tower Gate immediately.”

  “But take care,” interrupted Krinata, “not to damage him in any way.” / can’t believe it’s going to be this easy.

  Graciously, the director gestured her toward another exit from his office. “Stroll with me, my Lady, and we’ll meet them at the gate where your car is parked.”

  “Thank you, Director. Your loyalty will please the Emperor.” She almost choked on the words.

  “It is a pity, though,” said the director as they ambled down a long pillared corridor. “In another few hours, we’d surely have had the confession the Emperor wanted.”

  “Unfortunately, the Emperor couldn’t wait.” Her heart was pounding, and she wondered momentarily where she’d got the sheer audacity to attempt this. I’m not scared. There’s nothing to be scared of because I’ve nothing to lose now. Nevertheless, she was terrified. Her mouth was dry, her palms damp. Surely, it showed.

  “Do you have any idea why the haste? Just personal curiosity, you understand.”

  “The Emperor doesn’t confide in such as myself. No doubt an emergency threatens the Empire. But Emperor Rantan is wise; he’ll handle it with minimum fuss.”

  “Yes. It’s a shame all the disruption these Dushau have caused. But we’re fortunate to have such a leader. The Allegiancy will no doubt be the first Galactic civilization to survive its trimiilennial.”

  She’d heard Clorinda Dover and the clique she’d gathered about herself reinforcing each other with such statements. She drew on one of their favorite aphorisms. “The strength of the Allegiancy is the Throne; the wisdom of the Allegiancy is the Emperor. Never have we faced such an insidious threat, never have we had such decisive leadership.”

  “Dushau sedition is not even the worst of it,” said the Camidan. “Have you heard they’ve begun to mass an armada around Dushaun?”

  Good for them! They may need it. Aloud she said, “I hadn’t heard that. I’ve been busy with imperial duties, and in the capital, idle gossip is discouraged.”

  “So it is idle gossip? We haven’t much time for such here, either. I’ll see that rumor isn’t spread further.” He gestured, “My Lady, we’ve arrived. And here they come.”

  Doors swung wide and a floating gurney festooned with equipment, i.v. lines and chuckling servos issued forth followed by a small army of technicians. Krinata was dismayed. Surely only a Sentient-controlled servo or two would be necessary. Then she understood that the staff was eager to impress the Emperor with their zealousness. But how are we going to get away in an illegally landed arbiter?

  The gurney and attendants trooped across the wide rancestone foyer and joined the director and Krinata at the force-field wall opening on the grassy field. The outside lighting revealed the deserted, quiet area, and her car. One of the attendants glanced at the gurney in consternation and said, “I’m sorry, Director, I expected an imperial limo.”

  Krinata was transfixed by Jindigar’s haggard, indigo countenance surrounded by pale green sheets. One wrist emerged from the side of the sheet where tubes and sensors were connected. “Can you wake him without harming him?”

  “He’s apt to become violent, Lady,” answered the director. “Surely the Emperor told you that?”

  Krinata felt sweat break out on her face. “Well, of course,” she started, with no idea what to say next.

  Just then Arlai broke in, projecting via Krinata’s leptolizer, an image of a Cassrian simulacrum. She knew it was Arlai because he said, in a perfect Cassrian voice, “My Lady Zavaronne, the orbiter you requested has been dispatched and will arrive at your location in ten minutes.”

  It gave her time to catch her breath, sternly suppressing her knowledge that a Sentient couldn’t change its projected identity at will. She wasn’t used to thinking on her feet like this, but she improvised, ‘Ten minutes should allow sufficient time for you to revive the Dushau. The Emperor will brook no delays. I cannot afford to present Him with an unconscious Dushau.”

  Reluctantly, the director motioned to a Holot attendant who made some adjustments on the gurney. Gradually, tension lines deepened in Jindigar’s face. His breathing became ragged, his eyes rolling in their sockets under closed lids. His mouth opened, revealing dreadfully pale teeth. “He’s not in danger of convulsions, is he?”

  The director queried the Holot with a silent glance, and the attendant answered, “We don’t believe so. But we have almost cracked his mind. No telling what might happen.”

  Dear God, help him! Her throat was dry, but she forced words out, “The Emperor sent me because this Dushau has debriefed to me on occasion. He knows me, and might be less inclined to do me violence.”

  “Ah, I see His great wisdom now,” said the Camidan director. “We have been his enemies, and he has hardened to resist us. But you can pretend to be his friend, and record hisconfession!”

  “Careful!” said the Holot. “He might hear you now.”

  Krinata seized on the unwitting director’s suggestion. “Let me get in there,” she said, pushing through the swarm of attendants—Cassrians, Treptians and Lehiroh.

  When Jindigar groaned, she grabbed his hand, her face filling his view. “Jindigar!” she called gently, letting all her feelings come through, knowing they’d think her a consummate actress, hoping Jindigar would know the truth through her touch. “Jindigar! Wake up.”

  Midnight eyes flickered open. From such close range, she could see the fine filaments patterning the eyeball. No pupil and iris, but a swirling field of indigo and purple. As he brought focus to bear on her, the filaments widened. He stiffened, as if to shove away a nightmare creature, then his lips parted, trembling in pitiful hope. “Ontarrah!”

  Before she could correct him, he pushed her away and twisted to curl on his side. “No!”

  She heard her own voice say, “He’s starting to go episodic!” The voice came from her leptolizer. It was Arlai, prompting her. Ontarrah must have been someone Jindigar once knew. She didn’t know what to do, but she did remember that when he’d been disoriented before, it had helped him to hold onto her. She stripped the sensor contacts from his wrist, and pulled him back across the gurney. “Jindigar. It’s me, Krinata. Pull yourself together.” She told him the year, reminded him he’d just returned with the remnants of Kamminth’s from Margo’s planet, and now he was the only survivor. “We’ve got to debrief now. You can rest later.”

  She sensed the tense vibration m his muscles again. It tore her heart to do this to him, but now that she’d seen what they’d done to him, she believed the Emperor planned a public humiliation and execution for Prince Jindigar.

  “Jindigar! Jindigar!” she pleaded, putting all herself behind it.

  FIVE

  Obligations

  A wild fear suffused the Dushau’s features, twisting them as if he were looking into a pit of horrors. But then he seemed to scent Krinata’s odor, sniffed again with eyes closed, supreme effort in the set of his brow.

  Like a drowning man who sights a floating spar, he grabbed w
eakly at Krinata, gripping her as he had in the robing chamber, his breath barely able to work through his tightened throat. She listened to that rasping sound, wanting to sob, knowing she couldn’t afford the luxury now. Instead, she aimed a secret smile over Jindigar’s head at the Director who had circled the gurney, watching her admiringly.

  She motioned the attendants away, hoping the Camidan would think she didn’t want Jindigar associating her with his enemies. The director seemed to catch the idea and silently cleared the area. She urged Jindigar to sit up on the side of the gurney. He was dressed in standard-issue hospital gown, with a slit down the back, feet bare. She had no cloak to throw about him.

  He seemed to be fighting his way to rationality now, clutching her hand for dear life. Occasionally, his eyes would roll about, as if focused on looming horrors. But then he’d drag himself back from the abyss by holding to her. At one such lucid moment, she took the risk of whispering, “Arlai’s sending one of his landers here.” Then aloud, she asked, “Can you walk? I’ll get you the robes your rank demands, Prince Jindigar.”

  The Camidan grinned broadly, revealing needle teeth and three flickering tongues. But he held silence as Krinata urged Jindigar off the gurney onto the cold textured rancestone floor. Its magenta and rose swirls blended oddly with Jindigar’s nailless, long-toed indigo feet. Jindigar flexed those feet, testing his balance. Then, still clutching Krinata’s arm, he lurched toward the door.

  He was hard as stone with inward tremors, but his mouth tightened to a thin line as he faced his ordeal. Krinata could imagine how the door must seem a day’s journey away down a darkening tunnel. Every few steps, he whispered apologies for his weakness.

  Then they were on the well-manicured path across the lawn. A dozen steps and a flutter of movement caught Krinata’s eye. Imp streaked across the field and swarmed up Jindigar’s gown, attaching himself to the Dushau’s chest and mewling in loud relief.

  Jindigar cradled the piol with one arm, nuzzling his head. It seemed the piol lent strength to his protector’s legs, for Jindigar straightened and managed a semblance of a march out onto the field. Perhaps the piol distinguished this episode of the Dushau’s life from all others, preventing random hallucinatory memories from crowding out the present.

  Amid the constant dull roar of upper-atmosphere traffic, a waxing sound dopplered toward them. Jindigar pointed to its source, and whispered, “There! Depend on Arlai!”

  Over the horizon swept a needle-slim ground-to-orbit craft. / can’t believe we’re going to make it.

  The craft came to a full-stop just above them, and settled neatly with its door easing open to form a ramp at their feet. Arlai was indeed as good as his brag.

  Ithrenth said, “An antique if I ever saw one.”

  “Reconditioned,” ad-libbed Krinata. “Just impressed into the imperial service.” The craft carried the Dushau rotating mobius-strip emblem, and some name in Dushauni lettering. “Haven’t had a chance to change the emblem yet.”

  “Of course. There must be thousands of such ships confiscated now.”

  “Hundreds of thousands,” said Krinata knowledgeably. Jindigar remained grimly silent, leaning on Krinata as he worked his way toward the ramp.

  “No doubt.” The director unlimbered his leptolizer from a belt hook under his robe. “Now then,” he started, and Krinata’s breath caught in her throat.

  / knew it couldn’t be that easy.

  “As soon as we complete the formalities, the Dushau is your responsibility.”

  “Certainly,” said Krinata, running dry tongue over even drier lips. She shifted Jindigar’s grip to her shoulder, her lightcase to her left hand, and proffered her right hand.

  Ithrenth put the business end of his leptolizer against her fingers, gripping his end with his long, many jointed, shell protected fingers. “I, Ithrenthumarian, Director of Onerir General Hospital, by order of Emperor Rantan, do hereby transfer custody of Prince Jindigar—something unpronounceable—of Dushaun to the Lady Krinata Zavaronne of Pesht: Sign; Seal; Date: Place.”

  “I, Krinata Zavaronne, do accept custody of Prince Jindigar whatever, on behalf of the Allegiancy and all those loyal to it.” She gulped, waiting for horrid lights to flash and sirens to howl.

  But apparently-the hospital’s Sentient accepted her version of the formality despite not mentioning the Emperor. But she knew if she’d said ‘by order of the Emperor’ the leptolizer would have reported she was lying.

  Then, miraculously, they were marching up Arlai’s ramp and Ithrenth had turned his back and walked away.

  Just as they cleared the inner airlock, Jindigar collapsed to the soft-textured deck, his fingers raking that familiar surface as if he could gather it up and hug it. Krinata felt the slight vibration of takeoff. Then Arlai said, his Dushau image holo’d before Jindigar. “We’re safely away. I’ve stalled off the Onerir Control’s reprogrammers. Jindigar, you’ll be onboard in just a few minutes.”

  But all Jindigar could say was, “Oh, Arlai, Arlai!”

  Imp licked Jindigar’s indigo plush face, imitating the Dushau’s plaintive tone. Krinata asked, “Arlai, do you have a telemband aboard this lander?”

  “Central cabin.” answered the Sentient crisply opening the inner hatch before them.

  Krinata coaxed Jindigar back to his feet and urged him through the hatchways into the center of the ship where ten acceleration couches were arranged about a central control pillar. Arlai focused a beam of white light on the telemband he’d placed on the arm of the pilot’s chair.

  She eased the lanky Dushau into his accustomed place and bound the cuff about his upper arm. A display lit on the pillar. The data was far off the Dushau norm.

  Arlai’s image projected Reside Jindigar. “With your permission, Jindigar, I must revive you for a supreme effort. There are decisions pending only you can make for me. Our lives depend on it, though it risks your own.”

  Arlai spoke in a modern Dushauni, and Jindigar answered in the same language. “I understand. Do it.”

  “Relax now,” advised Arlai. “This will hit you hard in a few moments.” Then, to Krinata he said, “Secure yourself. It could become a turbulent ride.”

  Krinata knew little of orbital mechanics, had traveled only as a passenger on luxurious liners, but she’d always been addicted to adventure fiction. She was surprised how familiar the lander’s fittings were. In moments, she had herself webbed into the adjacent control couch, and her own displays lit. They were little different from any atmosphere flyer’s, though the patina of antique design lay everywhere.

  “Do you have a free circuit, Arlai?” she asked.

  Instantly, a diminutive Arlai appeared on the plotting screen before her. “Surely. You wish a tracking display?”

  “Please.”

  A diagram of their orbital rise and Ephemeral Truth’s position track appeared along with a time display. Then other ships in orbit around the busy capital came on display, along with an overlay showing the communications between them. As a further overlay began to wipe across the screen, she said, “Enough. I can barely read this.” But she could easily see they had only covered a third of the distance.

  How long will it take for someone to discover what I’ve done? “Arlai, can we get to you any faster?”

  “Of course, but it would violate local ordinances. I need Jindigar’s order for that. Sorry, Krinata.”

  Before she could answer, Jindigar rolled his head to glance at her and her scope. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed them hard, set the piol aside and pushed his couch up to an alert position. “No speed yet. Arlai. Brief me.”

  Jindigar’s scope lit with a multicolor, multidimensional display Krinata could never have interpreted. The Dushau gulped it in with his eyes, massaging his face and arms as if he ached fiercely but was determined to ignore it. Worry creased his features. “Can you really hold Central’s reprogrammers off long enough?”

  “‘Eighty-five percent probability now that I’m in touch with you ag
ain. But they really want to grab Ephemeral Truth. We’re the last unconfiscated Dushau ship here. You’ve got to get me away from here, Jindigar.” There was a tremor of real fear in the Sentient’s tone.

  “I will,” promised Jindigar. “Lay in your coded retreat course, and allow me all five departure options.”

  Arlai brightened. “Executed.” There was such relief, relish and delight packed into that one word that Krinata felt for the first time they had a chance.

  A new display came on. “Increasing activity,” reported Arlai, “hi ground-to-orbit communications. They’ve spotted my lander. What shall I tell them?”

  “We’re your supply launch,” improvised Jindigar. “Make up a manifest of Sentient replenishments—chemicals they know you already have onboard so they know it’s not critical to you, but just routine restocking.”

  As he complied, Arlai said, “As it happens, that’s in fact the case. I’ve brought up the heavy cargo in my other landers, and sent the light one after you.”

  Jindigar grinned. Then he glanced at Krinata. “Any minute now Ithrenth will be checking your claims and will discover the ruse. What do you think Rantan will do?”

  “There’s nothing much he can do.”

  He appraised her steadily. “You’ve grown up in a very sheltered life, Krinata. Arlai, do you still have contact with your friend in the palace?”

  “Intermittently. She’s programmed to be totally loyal to Rantan, and now suspects my actions are not so innocent.”

  “Ask her to relay my elaborate respects to my Emperor, and the following: Should Ephemeral Truth or its landers be fired upon, the list of habitable planets I’ve secreted amid the planetary ordnance programs will be obliterated.”

  “Complying,” answered Arlai. “But Jindigar, there is no such list.”

  “Then create one, in code, of course,” suggested Jindigar mildly. “Use member planets of the Allegiancy.”