Dushau tdt-1

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  “He’s in no condition to judge anything.”

  She looked down at Jindigar who was staring blankly off into space. God, maybe they’re right. But she wasn’t going to make a scene that would put more stress on him. She made a frustrated sound and whirled to stalk back to her bunk and fling herself face down, trying not to cry.

  Later, Rinperee found her there, and sat beside her waiting to be noticed.

  “What do you want?” Krinata challenged, wishing she didn’t sound so belligerent.

  “To try to explain. I know you’re important to Jindigar. And I know you want to help him. But…”

  “If you’re talking about that horrid rumor, it’s not true!”

  After a shocked pause, Rinperee asked, as if truly seeking information, “Can you honestly tell me Jindigar means nothing to you?”

  She sat up, crossing her legs. She had to be civil, now that one of them was at least acknowledging her existence. “He’s probably the best friend I have left now. But I’m nothing to him except a fairly competent programming ecologist who’s a pretty mean bluffer, too. That stupid rumor is a lie.”

  “Krinata, I’m Dushau. You don’t have to explain the ‘stupidity’ of that rumor to me. But you are wrong to think you’re nothing to Jindigar but a programmer. And therein lies a dreadful danger to him. It was none of my business what he did to himself as an Oliat, but he’s an Historian now, and his clarity of access to the Archive depends on his not acquiring any emotional scars to lie between him and that spliced memory. If he nurtures friendship for you, he will grieve hard at your death, and lose countless precious facts Grisnilter and all his forebears suffered so to preserve.

  “That is why we guard ourselves so from entanglement with Ephemerals. When it was just his personal memories he was throwing away, few could intervene. Now, we all have a stake in his well-being. And I’m the closest we have to an expert on treating his condition. I’ve asked the others to keep you away from him, so I feel I owe you an explanation.”

  “Explain this, then. What’s wrong with him? How do you know he doesn’t need to talk to me?”

  “In absorbing the Archive, he’s undergone an intense mental strain, a challenge to his ability to sift reality from phantasm.

  He’s struggling on the verge of going episodic. Do you know what that means?”

  “I’m a certified Oliat debriefing officer, and within a couple of credits of getting my field liaison rating. You may know Historians, but I’ll bet I know more about Oliat.”

  Humor melted the stern expression on Rinperee’s face. As if sharing a private joke, she bent toward Krinata and intimated, “My father, two of my brothers, and my sister are Oliat. I’ve no talent for it, or I would be also. I’ve taken a lifelong interest in it. I can’t claim ignorance.”

  Abashed, Krinata apologized. “I have my little prides.”

  “And you’re well entitled to them. I can’t belittle what you’ve accomplished for Jindigar and all the rest of us. What can I say to bring you to trust my judgment?”

  Krinata’s curiosity wakened, and she set a test. “The Dushau unanimously deny being telepathic. If trading memories isn’t telepathic, what is?”

  “Telepathic, as it’s commonly used, refers to perception of worded but unvoiced conscious thoughts of others. Few Dushau have such ability, and never very strongly. What Historians do in keeping the Archive—what the Oliat does to constitute and balance—have no comparison among Ephemerals. Therefore we deny the application of such concepts as telepathic or psychic or precognitive. It is simply our mode of awareness that is different.”

  “All right,” said Krinata, chalking it all up to tangled semantics. They’re telepaths, never mind what they say. “But Jindigar’s undergone some kind of immense psychic shock of the same magnitude as losing his Oliat, and that nearly wiped him out. I know, I lived through it with him. And I helped him then. Ask him, if you don’t believe me. What makes you think I can’t help him now?”

  “I’m neither Historian nor Oliat; I’m a Sentient psychologist. But I know enough to recognize a Dushau under an intolerable burden. Such is Jindigar. He needs time and quiet to assimilate events. You may have helped him before, in the short run. But, innocently enough, you were setting him up – now, or fifty or a hundred years from now when you must die – to take a grieving. Do you know what a grieving is? What it does to Dushau?”

  “I know it’s a terrible thing. But everyone grieves. One can’t refrain from emotional attachment for fear of the pain of parting.”

  “True, parting is a normal aspect of life. A certain number of grievings must come into every life—it’s necessary to the maturing process. But when a Dushau grieves, the emotions are, um, wrapped tightly like filaments, into a fibrous wall across memory. Depending on the intensity of the grieving, that wall can be translucent or opaque and unbreakable. A Dushau who has only Dushau friends will have a manageable number of grievings. A Dushau who befriends Ephemerals, will have so many scars, so many mind blockages, however faint they may be, that his sanity becomes endangered. A Dushau’s life depends on investing his emotions wisely, you see.”

  She had known all the facts, but had never put them together quite like that. The concept stunned her. No wonder Dushau seemed so aloof and uncaring; they were afraid to care.

  “But I’m only one person, and he doesn’t care for me.”

  “Jindigar has spent a large part of his life involving himself ever deeper in the affairs of Ephemerals. He may decide to change that now, and I think you owe him that chance—when he’s healed enough to think straight again. If, when he’s healed, he decides to throw away the Archive he’s paid so dearly for and continue to develop friendships with Ephemerals, then there’s nothing any of us can do. All I’m asking, Krinata, is that you have the sensitivity to allow him to make that decision, when he’s healed enough to make any kind of decision. Don’t force it on him now, when he’ll grab at anything for immediate relief. With this, he has become truly a prince among us. We would, any of us, except perhaps Desdinda, give our lives for his. If he truly means anything to you, give him the grace of your absence.”

  Krinata could only agree. But her life became suddenly bleak and hopeless. In voluntarily giving up Jindigar, she felt she was giving up something that had cost her as dearly as the Archive had cost him. It could take him fifty years to recover, and he’d regard it only as a medium-length convalescence. She had to shut herself off from whatever had kept their prison and their hopeless future from sapping her spirit. Her days became listless, and her nights sleepless. And in the end, it was a resolve too difficult to keep.

  One night, she was awake during the seventeen-hour darkness. She went out onto the cool porch. Sitting, watching the stars, wondering which was Truth, or even if Truth was still in orbit, she heard a sound.

  She froze, listening, wondering if other prisoners were digging an escape tunnel. But now, the scrabbling was not furtive. She crept around the end of the building, and found a scrawny, three-quarters starved piol digging in the moist ground under the skirt of the elevated building.

  As she watched, it increased its tempo frantically. Then it jerked back and came up with a wriggling something in its claws which it promptly devoured. But when Krinata made a move toward it, it scampered away.

  After that, she set herself to tame the wild one, putting out bowls of water and scraps of food. Soon, she had it eating out of her hand, and figured that it had once been tame. Finally, she arranged for Jindigar to find her in the shower room bathing the piol, thinking one could love such an animal but not grieve over its death as over a person’s.

  And that was the beginning of Jindigar’s recovery. Deciding the piol was female, he named her Rita. Each day, he fed and groomed and played with her. She soon became part of the barracks life.

  Prey proclaimed Krinata a genius. Storm made her part of his small family where before he, too, had been adamant about keeping her away from Jindigar. And when Bell finally g
ot up the nerve to ask if the rumor about her and Jindigar were true, Krinata could explain to someone who believed her. It was such a relief.

  As the days passed Krinata spent a lot of time wondering why the Dushau and all of Truth’s complement hadn’t been executed out of hand. But there were no answers.

  The hashmarks she made on her windowsill showed they’d been there ten local days, though it seemed like ten years, when the rest of Storm’s family was thrown in with them. They looked tortured and starved, and she was sure there were fewer of them. All they talked of was those who had died, many in prison. The survivors were hardened and proud, defending their religious principles.

  Krinata overheard snatches of conversations held in tense undertones about whether the marriage was really valid, interrupted in the middle as it had been. The newlyweds maintained it was. Some of the older, more orthodox said it wasn’t. The group polarized with Storm and his mates joining the Truth complement, and the family keeping to themselves.

  Her tally of days had reached fifteen when a flurry of activity swept the camp, the guards forcing everyone to clean, polish and mend everything in sight. Rumor had it that they were about to be inspected.

  Something in Krinata woke to hope again, and escape plans began to form in her mind, plans involving Jindigar. Just thinking of working with him raised her spirits.

  The big morning arrived. The guards, all spit and polish in their best uniforms, paraded the prisoners outside then– barracks, seeming to expect the nonmilitary prisoners to form up as if they were a precision drill team.

  Then, amid imperial magnitude drum rolls, the compound was invaded by smart-stepping imperial troops, armed and armored, carrying the Emperor’s banner.

  Krinata’s heart sank when she saw Zinzik, robes flying, crown flashing, marching amid his Honor Guard. She despaired even before he stopped in front of their ranks, singled her out, and said, “Step forward, Krinata Zavaronne.”

  TWELVE

  Zinzik’s Revenge

  Quaking inside, Krinata advanced in front of her line and made a precise obeisance.

  “A loyal subject, are you?” asked Zinzik, pacing, his eyes running up and down the row of Dushau until he spotted Jindigar. Abstractedly examining the prince, he added thoughtfully, ”And how do you explain what you have done?”

  “I thought you were simply making a mistake which you, in imperial wisdom, would soon correct. I saw no reason for loyal subjects to die because of an error.”

  “I am Emperor. An Emperor of the Allegiancy doesn’t make mistakes.”

  She knew he already had her slated for execution, and wondered if he’d have her shot on the spot or saved for public ceremony. But she looked him squarely in the eye and said, “This time, you did, Excellency.”

  He dismissed her coldly, calling Jindigar out. “Illustrious Prince of Dushau. Come, greet your Emperor.”

  Jindigar remained standing, eyes focused on the distance, as if he’d gone back into that catatonic state.

  Zinzik roared, “Jindigar, step forth!”

  Jindigar brought his eyes to bear on the Emperor as if noticing him for the first time, gave a very unceremonious shrug, as if it were of no moment to him where he stood, and took two paces forward to present himself beside Krinata.

  “Well!” prompted Zinzik.

  “Well, what?” asked Jindigar.

  “On your knees, Dushau!”

  “Why?”

  “I am your Emperor! I hold the power of life and death over you!” Unbelievably, Zinzik was livid. She realized he clung to the trappings of power while the core of his influence eroded away, support of the Kings and the Dukes lost. She glanced at Trassle who was watching alertly.

  As if reasoning with a simple child, Jindigar said, “I owe no fealty to any Emperor. My oath to the Allegiancy was broken by the Allegiancy’s Emperor. The power of life and death does not give one the power to command fealty. Or loyalty. Or any esteem whatsoever.”

  That will make a marvelous epitaph. But at the same time, Krinata surmised Jindigar was functioning normally.

  Whereas Krinata’s response had barely affected the Emperor, Jindigar’s tapped a deep anger that twisted the Lehiroh countenance. A moment later, the oily Superiority was back, barely masking ferocity. “You do not impress me, Jindigar. You will be brought to heel. Publicly.” The Lehiroh were evolved predators. But Zinzik, she thought, was not so evolved. Amazingly, Jindigar stood unflinching before that ferocity. She could hear the rapid breathing of the other Dushau behind her, barely able to abort a flee impulse. Desdinda whimpered.

  Zinzik strolled along the double rank of prisoners, until he came to Bell and her husbands. He came closer, despite the nervousness of his guards who flanked him tightly. His lip curled in disgust. “Ensyvians!”

  Then he glanced thoughtfully at Jindigar, still standing front and center, impassive. He snapped to a Holot trotting along behind him, “Get all these aboard immediately, except the Ensyvians.” He considered Jindigar’s expression. “No, include these five, but not the mob. Then get me Nodrial, and tell him to bring all the documents pertaining to this case. I will know why it took so long to notify me!”

  With that, Zinzik stomped off amid the pomp and honors offered by the suddenly bewildered staff of the prison.

  Within the hour, they were on their way offplanet. During a commotion started when the family members, anguished at parting, apologized to the newlyweds for treating them badly, Jindigar contrived to hide the scrawny piol under his shirt.

  There was hardly a bulge. Jindigar had lost weight since he’d carried Imp to the Emperor’s audience chamber.

  They were hustled aboard Timespike, the imperial flagship, by cargo carrier. Without g-seats, they arrived bruised and strained. They were paraded into the brig, a narrow corridor lined with four-person cells. Two extra cots had been jammed into each cell, leaving virtually no room to stand. Krinata could see the very unprivate all-species toilets in the rear of each cell.

  Taking roll as they were divided into groups, Krinata discovered that all twenty-seven Truth passengers plus Storm and his mates were there.

  The guards, three women and eight men charged with putting them in their cells, were all human. When they were lined up along the center of the brig corridor, the commander ordered the Dushau sprinkled throughout the group. Then he had them count off into two groups of six and four groups of five, deliberately separating the Lehiroh as well.

  Krinata contrived to stick beside Jindigar, and ended up with him, Desdinda, Bell and Storm in a five-person cell. But when the guards tried to crowd them into the cell before them, Desdinda went wild—prey cornered. Emitting a feral scream, she leaped on the guard who stood between her and the gate at the end of the brig shaftway, tore at his throat with her teeth, and left him bleeding on the deck to charge into the Holot guards who stood beside the gate.

  Before she’d gone three steps, she was dropped by stunner fire. Jindigar had charged after her, for all the world as if he’d lay down his life for her. But two human guards stopped him with crossed weapons. A little sound escaped him before he subsided.

  Two guards carried Desdinda off to the infirmary, swearing all the while. Frey was shifted into Desdinda’s place and forced into their cell as if he might resist also. Bars slammed across the doors, in addition to the snapfield. Power failures on battleships were too frequent to trust prisoners to force fields alone.

  Jindigar stayed by the bars, watching the guards leave, before he turned and extracted Rita from her place under his shirt. Placing her on one of the beds as if she were a decorative doll, he said, “Now there’s hope.”

  He’s blown a circuit at last!

  But Storm said, “Let’s not say it too loudly, though.”

  Jindigar eyed their bare surroundings. There must be monitoring devices; prisons always had them. But Jindigar said, “There’s nobody listening now. As soon as they bring Desdinda back, and as soon as Arlai contacts us, we must be ready to move
.”

  Afraid to accuse him of insanity, Krinata said, “Jindigar, do you know how that sounds?”

  Bell said, “Insane, that’s how.” Krinata glared at her.

  Frey was clinging to the bars, gazing after Desdinda, oblivious. Jindigar considered Bell and Krinata as if Storm, Frey and he shared a special Oliat rapport, an understanding of their environment all her ecological training couldn’t emulate. Jindigar explained patiently, “I’m better now. Really I am. I can know things. The rest I can deduce.”

  Krinata inspected him. He was standing normally again. His teeth seemed a healthy blue, his voice resonated. Was he just pulling himself together to deal with another crisis, or had he overcome the ordeal Grisnilter had put him through? “What do you mean, know things?” asked Krinata.

  “Frey and I… sense environment. Rhythms. Even without Oliat.”

  Frey turned. His eyes were haunted. “Desdinda.”

  “I think she’s going to make it,” said Jindigar.

  “You wish she’s going to make it,” corrected Frey.

  Krinata saw the boy’s fear, and she could understand it. Desdinda had undergone the shattering of her Oliat, as Jindigar had, but Jindigar had survived. Prey’s ambition had been to officer an Oliat. And now he saw the danger of it.

  Heavily, Jindigar admitted, “Wish. Yes.”

  Into the bleak silence, Storm said, “Arlai.”

  Jindigar turned from Frey. “He’s nearby. That I know. Knowing Arlai, I deduce he set this situation up. There was no way to get us out of that prison, except by the decree of someone superior to Duke Nodrial. Meaning, the Emperor.

  Nodrial is plotting against the Emperor. I think Zinzik knows it because Arlai contrived to get word of our presence to Zinzik, making it clear that Nodrial had no intention of just handing us over to Zinzik. Nodrial is vulnerable because he’s already using Rashions to control his populace. What do you think the Emperor will do?”

  “Squash Nodrial,” answered Krinata. “Take the Rashions for himself.” She almost gagged at the thought.