“Chiara?"
She lounged in front of the Tri-V pit, ignoring the Science Network program with the sound turned down.
“Amaxus has even better information sources than those news hounds. Sorry about that—I would have come down to the station, but he didn't want anybody to know I'm here. Not yet, anyway.” She gave me a mischievous wink, then got up and came to meet me, arms wide.
It felt so good to lean on somebody. No tears came, even though I shook a little. Chiara insisted on giving me an abbreviated physical, checking my bruises where Carsmith had dug his nails in, then picking out a new shirt for me to replace my torn one. She led me over to the couch when I finished washing and changing, and made me sit down. Silverleaf tea filled the air with a fresh, fruity aroma that helped me relax. She made me take a good long drink before either of us spoke again.
“Actually, your uncle thinks this may all work out for the best for us. The mercenary,” she added with a sniff of disgust. “After what just happened, you would think he would hurry out here himself to be with you."
“Too dangerous.” I knew what Chiara tried to do, focusing some of my anger on Uncle so that I could recover from the attack. “If he rushes out here to be with me, everybody will wonder if there's something else going on. This way, if Uncle acts like it's nothing, everybody else will think it is, too."
“Sometimes that man infuriates me."
“Just sometimes?” A tiny snort of laughter escaped me. “Haven't you learned yet that nothing is more important than our mission?"
“Not even family?” Chiara's face took on a surprisingly tender, teary expression. “Kendle, you have no idea how important you are, just being young and female. Add to that your being the last Fyx daughter, the slightest bit of threat to you is magnified."
“Nothing is going to happen to Uncle Max."
“What does he have to do with it?"
“Well, I always assumed that when he passes on, I'll take over his duties, leading the re-unification.” I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable under Chiara's scrutiny. “That's why he's filled me in on everything he does. My brothers are better suited for searching and working stealth mode on other worlds. I'm the organizer."
“I seriously doubt your uncle ever told you anything worthwhile. Look how he ignored teaching you about the Hovenu facts of life.” She shook her head, the old, hard lines of determination coming back to her face. “Drink some more tea. You're in for some news you might not like too well."
I drank my tea, but it didn't help. Not when Chiara unloaded everything she knew on me, and I had time to think about it and figure out what applied to me, personally, and what applied to me as a female Hoven.
The things Chiara told me were facts from our ancient history that it seemed everyone knew but me. As descendants of Melafyxia, the seeress, our family line was as close to royalty as Hoveni ever got, all down through our history. And Fyx daughters were responsible for holding onto the tradition, teaching it to others, guarding it, adding to it—and having lots of children to make sure the race as well as our family line continued. Mostly, the men were there to protect the women, serve them, act as advisors and bodyguards. That sounded fine, though I could never see Uncle Max as anything but the ultimate leader of our people.
Why had he never told me any of this? Especially if there was always the chance someone would figure out what and who we were and send us running. There was always the off chance, with all the traveling he had to do, that Uncle Max would get killed in some freak accident. Where would our people have been then? Was someone else entrusted with telling me everything, if something happened to him?
It really bothered me that Chiara, who grew up in semi-ignorance of our race's traditions and duties, should know more about my personal destiny and responsibilities than I did.
“When I get home, Uncle Max and I are going to have a long, long talk,” I said, breaking the silence that had fallen when Chiara finished talking. “All this time, I thought I was fully in his confidence because he needed my help, and because I had to carry on after him. Now I'm learning I don't know anything."
“Everything he's been doing has been to protect you,” Chiara whispered. “In a lot of ways, you're the hope of our future, Kendle."
“Me? Come on!"
“Have you ever sat down and wondered just why your stories about Meruk are so vivid, why things are being accepted so easily? You could have Melafyxia's gift. Dreams and prophecies and the silver tongue of persuasion.” She tried to smile, but suddenly she looked very tired. “Your uncle suspects, and I agree, that you get your story ideas from dreams ... and your dreams are touching on real things, real events, touching on a kind of mass subconscious of our scattered race."
“We're talking philosophy and old religion. The kind of things the Set'ri counted against us when they decided we weren't Human. And I've really had all I can handle for the day."
“Yes, I suppose you have.” She stood up and gestured for me to stand, too. “I promised Amaxus I would take care of you and make sure you were fully recovered from what happened today. There's a rather nice, new restaurant close by. One of the Leaper ships that came through last year had a lot of data on alien cuisine, which is this restaurant's specialty. Care to try it?"
“Chiara...” I stopped short, when she would have taken me by the arm and led me to the door. “Uncle's really worried, isn't he?"
“Yes and no. He doesn't like anyone attacking you, and he'd be here if he could ... but he also thinks this just might work to our benefit."
“You said that before. Want to explain?"
“Over supper. I don't know about you, but I'm starving. They never have anything worth eating on those tunnel shuttles."
We went to dinner. Chiara used her own gift, a personality that could get her anything she wanted without bribery or intimidation, and we had a private booth. Both of us turned coward at the last moment and ordered food from cultures and star systems we had tasted before—no single portion of the meal coming from the same place of course. It made for strange, interesting combinations.
But we had privacy, too. Lots of quiet to talk in, and the waiter left us alone once we were served. The things Chiara discussed with me that evening, I could understand. It was part of how I had grown up.
Basically, Uncle thought the publicity from the lunatic attacking me would be good for the program, as well as our mission. It was a sign that people did want to believe in Hoveni, and perhaps it would give the lost ones the idea to try to contact us—but with more caution and less drama. The fact that I had stayed to listen to the man, instead of brushing him off immediately, would let people know that I was interested in learning all I could about Hoveni. Or so Uncle theorized. Chiara told me he would doctor the news releases, to put hidden messages in, and playing things up to make it seem I was frantic for details about Hoveni and any ideas that could be found for stories.
I learned that night that I really was a writer, not just a transmitter for dreams and visions, like Chiara and Uncle seemed to think. My mind started to rework the confrontation with the derelict lunatic, changing it from my problem to Meruk's. I had been thinking when I met the man, after all, that this was somebody Meruk would try to help. I played with the idea of making the derelict a victim, or someone who brought his troubles on himself, or a madman like Carsmith. If I was really desperate, I could get three separate adventures out of the one incident. When I told Chiara about the possibilities, she just encouraged me to write them all down and worry about the uses and outcomes later.
* * * *
Chiara stayed two more days with me, introducing me to people she trusted, in case I ran into more lunatics and needed to vanish or obtain some discrete bodyguards. She took great delight in teaching me the Hovenu facts of life, as she called them. Mental discipline that translated into even tighter and wider-ranging control over my body. Hovenu history that her parents had managed to hold onto and teach her before they were murdered and she had to
flee.
She explained some tiny details of our lives and rituals that I had always followed simply because that was how I was raised. Thanks to Chiara's teaching, they made sense and gained renewed impact in my life. It was as if suddenly it made sense for there to be Hoveni in the universe. We belonged, we were needed, despite what the Set'ri said. The fact that Hoveni could interbreed with Humans without any genetic tweaking was proof enough for me that we were just as Human as everyone else. We simply had more talents than most Humans. We weren't freaks, accidents, or even deliberately created dangers to the existence and safety of the Human race.
I noticed something strange, however, that made me wonder about her specific reasoning for teaching me these things. I believed her when she said she was filling in all the gaps in what Uncle Max had taught me, whether deliberate or accidental. At the same time, I noticed a pattern that made me wonder if that was the only reason.
Every other sentence, especially when she shifted the topic to something new, referred back to Uncle Max. What he had said on some subject. Asking what I thought he felt or believed about something happening in the Commonwealth Council or what was happening in the rapidly contracting Conclave. What Uncle Max had said about Hoveni contributions to historical events. If Uncle Max had taught me yet about how the Hoveni survived the Downfall and how we kept the First Civ colony on Gemar from disintegrating into chaos. Or the things the Hoveni had done during the Mashrami threat a generation ago.
I didn't notice until the second day that she didn't really need to bring Uncle Max into everything. Yet she still did. Maybe she wanted to know more about Uncle Max than she did about the holes in my education, or to fill in the holes in hers?
I remembered the odd look in her eyes when I told her about Uncle Max's dead wife.
“What's wrong?” Chiara said, laughing, when I had blanked out of the conversation the moment that epiphany hit me.
“Are you interested in Uncle Max?"
Immediately, I regretted asking so bluntly. Hadn't I been brought up to watch every word, to never reveal too much and never, ever, on pain of death express my theories and questions and ignorance? Yes, I had. In front of strangers, and even in front of Humans I had known all my life. Among family and close friends and the inner circle, all Hoveni, I was encouraged to speak freely. Secrecy had betrayed our race many times in the generations since the Set'ri began their campaign of genocide. People had kept secrets, arrogantly determining that some information vital to the survival of our race was on a ‘need to know’ basis and some Hoveni weren't good enough to need that knowledge. Dozens of families had been caught in raids, massacred, when a little knowledge of hidden passageways and people to contact in other cities and other parts of the planet could have let them vanish and survive.
I realized then that I trusted Chiara as if I had known her all my life. As if she really was family.
I laughed when I realized that I did want Chiara to be family. And because five seconds after that epiphany slammed through my head and I spoke, she still sat there, staring at me, her mouth still slowly falling open.
She blushed. I had never seen Chiara blush. I had never seen her speechless, until just recently. It was nice to know she could be knocked off balance. It was even nicer to think that she was still in the embarrassed stage when it came to her attraction to Uncle Max.
“Interested isn't quite the word,” Chiara began slowly, when we just sat there, looking at each other. I grinned, and the look on her face grew more uncomfortable with every second that passed.
“You'd like to be really good friends, right? More than just working together. Socializing? Private time?” I pushed.
I felt like some of my schoolmates, who had teased and encouraged each other about their crushes and dates and the boys who hounded them for some token of encouragement. I had sat on the sidelines and laughed a few times, but I had never really joined in the games. None of the boys attracted me, and even though I understood intellectually the interplay of maturing minds and hormones and growing sexual attraction, it didn't interest me. Not even in a scholarly capacity.
Now, however, it felt like great fun. And I suspected that if I said the wrong thing, I would ruin this friendship growing between Chiara and me—and perhaps even destroy what could be a soul-deep relationship between her and Uncle Max.
“Yes,” Chiara finally said. She suddenly went limp and hid her face in her hands. “There is no understanding the man! I think I understood him better when he was an infuriating, unreadable, unbelievably successful..."
“If it's any comfort, I still don't understand him, and I've known him most of my life,” I offered. “Then again, I'm not a mature Hovenu woman who has every right to take the mate of her choice,” I added, my voice softening.
Chiara's head came up with a snap and she stared at me. For a second, I thought she would get red and hide her face again. Then a slow grin spread across her face and that nasty, delighted light came back to her eyes.
“Yes, I do have the right, don't I?” she murmured. “The right to take my mate, because women are the ones in power. We are, aren't we?"
“You have my blessing, if that's any help."
“The problem is getting Amaxus’ blessing."
“He won't realize what's happening until you've got him bound and bonded, if he's lucky."
Chiara laughed, a sharp bark of sound. “That's probably the only way to handle him. If he figures out what I'm after, he might just turn things around so he thinks it was all his idea."
We laughed together, and for the remainder of her stay, we divided our time between filling in more gaps in our knowledge of the Hoveni, making sure I would be safe from more lunatics either trying to become Hoven or trying to contact or destroy us, and plotting Chiara's plan of attack.
It made me wonder how I would stalk and trap and bind to me the man of my choice. When he ever showed up in my life. If he ever showed up.
I didn't know whether to pray Meruk was real, out there in the universe somewhere, his search leading him to me. Or to hope he wasn't real, because he would be too good to be true, a legend, someone I could never be comfortable with.
“We're both a mess,” Chiara said, and hugged me, laughing, after I confided those thoughts to her.
As far as I was concerned, Chiara became family that very day. All we were waiting for was Uncle Max to wake up and accept the fact that she was the woman for him.
* * * *
Uncle Max sent me a torque and matching bracelets and anklets about two lunar-quarters after the Carsmith incident. I found no note in the package that came from the Network via courier, except a piece of Uncle Max's stationery and the Hovenu hieroglyph for communication. That was clear enough, though I couldn't understand why he didn't call me himself. Whatever it was, it had to do with the package, which I hadn't opened yet. So I did.
I nearly dropped the jewelry when I saw it, and the signs covering it in white and black and silver enamel, and set with the blue sky-eye stones that the Hoveni had treasured for generations.
This wasn't my grandmother's jewelry, or even anything like the other ancestral pieces that had come down to our generation, jealously guarded through the Downfall and several waves of fleeing to the stars and coming back. This jewelry was brand new, but of the ancient design that no archeologist had ever seen. Only a Hoven would understand. The sky-eye stones belonged to legend and were almost as hard to find as pure-blooded Hoveni. Legends always included them when someone needed divine guidance and was on a quest. Specifically, a quest for lost souls and reunification of friends and families and nations, divided by disaster. The sky-eye stones and the eyes and glyphs for mountains, plains, sky and sea belonged to seekers and gatherers. Those entrusted with a holy duty, who had vowed themselves to be above reproach, totally trustworthy.
Uncle was telling me something. I just didn't think I wanted to hear it.
I called him. What else could I do?
Why couldn't he have
warned me these were coming? What if I had opened the package in front of my Human crew?
“I want you to wear them as much as possible. Especially when you're going out in public and people have a chance to approach you,” Uncle Max said, the moment the connection opened between us.
For a moment, I almost asked him why—then it all crashed in on me and I felt relieved and stupidly oblivious and angry all at the same time.
“This is to make sure I don't have another incident like that lunatic in the park,” I guessed.
“This is to make sure that those who are just as desperate and lonely, and who are true Hoveni, know they can trust you. If they recognize those symbols, especially those stones, they'll know how to approach you. They might even have the sense to address you by your title."
“I'm not a gatherer of the lost."
“You are now, cheriya."
I really hated it when I couldn't argue with him.
* * * *
Hoven Quest survived the alpha season with flying colors, high ratings, and a general outcry from the viewing public when the launch episode aired again, only cut into half-hour episodes. They wanted more of Meruk, not repeats. Uncle placated them by having edited bits of stories re-inserted for the second run half of the season, so people would watch to catch the new thirty-second and minute-long additions. Uncle had people monitoring the planetary ‘Net chatter sites to see how people liked or disliked it, and if their viewpoint of the series changed. He especially wanted to find out if Hoveni reacted to the messages he inserted in those tiny new pieces, the symbols and code words that meant nothing to Humans but, we hoped, caught the attention of Hoveni living in solitude and fear.
I hated to do it, but I pointed out to him that some Hoveni, growing up without their parents or anyone to teach them the fragments of our culture and history, might not catch those words any more easily than Humans did. And what about the Set'ri and Gen'gineers? A generation ago, Gen'gineers had been caught kidnapping Leapers and trying to get hold of Spacers for genetic samples to add to their ongoing project of creating the perfect Human being.
Hoven Quest Page 7
