Birthright: The Complete Trilogy

by Rick Partlow

  He shook off the sociological rumination and focused on the Tahni facing him. He was a large male, broader across the shoulders than average, with muscles that bulged beneath his wrap-around tunic and hands nearly twice as large as Cal's. His face looked as if it had been carved out of the heart of an oak and his dark eyes were set deep beneath his pronounced brow ridges. His hair was cut in the Tahni warrior fashion, with a strip down the middle of his scalp running into a long, stylized ponytail that wrapped around his neck multiple times.

  The last was an affectation, or perhaps a political statement: he was too young to have fought in the war, though perhaps his father had.

  "I'm looking for a priest of the old Path," Cal responded, calling on his headcomp's translation program to guide his rusty Tahni and hoping that the program wasn't leaving out some crucial local body language that might cause a fight. "He is called Tarl-Kan."

  There was a mumbling between two of the other youths, but the leader silenced it with a slash of his hand and turned back to Cal.

  "Why do you want to speak to a priest of the Path?" he demanded. "That church has been banned by your government."

  "Yet he is still a respected, influential gentleman," Cal pointed out, keeping his hand away from his holstered pistol to try to keep the young Tahni calm. "I would speak with him on whether he would use his influence to restrain or to encourage violence."

  "You speak of restraining violence, yet you come here armed." The Tahni motioned toward Cal's pistol.

  "I'm a soldier," Cal admitted. "I've killed a lot of people, Tahni and humans." He eyed the young male meaningfully. "A lot. As I get older, I favor peaceful solutions when possible. They leave fewer stains on my soul." He made an expression that was as close as he could come to the Tahni equivalent of a smile. "That doesn't mean I won't defend myself from those who have yet to learn that lesson."

  The male said nothing for several seconds, and Cal had nearly resigned himself to the idea that he was going to have to fight his way out of this when he finally spoke again.

  "I will take you to see Tarl-Kan," the young male said. "You will leave your weapon with the female when you go inside. It will be up to the priest whether or not he agrees to speak with you."

  Cal could sense Holly bristling at this, and he quickly neurolinked to her Take it easy. They're basically just kids.

  Like they get any better when they're older, she returned cynically.

  "Let's go," Cal said to the Tahni.

  It was about another kilometer to the house---more of an apartment really, subdivided in a four-story-tall building that also held a family catering business and two other living spaces. The priest's was on the ground floor, around the back of the shop, and Cal had to believe it was a comedown for someone who had once been just two steps below the Chief Priest of the One Path. The entrance was an oval doorway blocked by a slab of local rock, locked into the door frame by massive, complicated hinges. The Tahni male raised a hand to them just outside the door and Caleb gave a sign of affirmation.

  He unfastened his gun belt and handed it off to Holly, who slung it over her left shoulder and eyed the Tahni youths doubtfully.

  If anything happens...

  I'll call you, he promised.

  Cal waited a few meters from the door while the youth kicked at the frame, then called for Tarl-Kan by name. There was an unintelligible grunt from inside and then the door grated open a crack, not revealing anything from where he stood. The younger man spoke softly through the opening, glancing back at him a few times, then listened attentively. Finally, he motioned for Cal to come forward and the door opened wider to admit him.

  The Tahni waiting inside that door was perhaps the oldest one Cal had ever seen. The Tahni didn't believe in anti-aging treatments and the Commonwealth had chosen not to force them into it just yet, so he could tell without doubt that Tarl-Kan was unabashedly old. His face was sagging and cracked, his hair shot with grey and his knuckles gnarled and swollen where they clasped his walking stick. He was dressed warmly and a small fire crackled in the hearth behind him despite what Cal thought of as oppressive heat.

  The door slammed shut behind them and Caleb knew without turning that the younger Tahni had closed it from the outside, leaving the two of them alone in the small apartment. The furniture was simple and looked hand-made, and the walls were bare except for a mounted ceremonial blade that Cal recognized as being the weapon of the Emperor's personal retainers.

  "Worthy Priest," Cal bowed his head to the old Tahni. "I am called Caleb Mitchell, and I thank you for agreeing to speak with me."

  "Sit," Tarl-Kan invited, waving to a stool across from the hearth. "Be a guest in my home, as humble as it is."

  It took Cal a moment to realize that the priest had spoken to him in English.

  "You speak my language well, Worthy Priest," Cal said, sitting gingerly, worried that the cloth and wood stool might not hold his bulk. It creaked and shifted but seemed to settle in solidly beneath him.

  "It seemed prudent to learn the ways of our conquerors," the old male said, lowering himself onto a bench opposite Cal's seat. "Though your language is exceedingly strange and makes no sense at all."

  It was odd watching an alien attempt his language, Cal reflected, and knew the reverse must be true. His body language and facial expressions didn't match the words and it seemed difficult for him to wrap his mouth around the sounds.

  "Well," Cal allowed, "you didn't evolve to speak it."

  "If I follow your news broadcasts correctly," Tarl-Kan said, "we did not evolve at all. We were made into what we are by the beings you call the Predecessors."

  Cal tried not to show his surprise, both at the fact that the Tahni priest kept up with the Instell NewsNets and that he seemed to accept the story of the Predecessors interfering with Tahni evolution to produce an intelligent hominid artificially. Many humans still refused to believe it.

  "Worthy priest," Caleb began again, "I've come here because I believe you still hold respect and influence in this city and I wish to know how you intend to use it."

  "You speak of the attack on your military space station," the priest said shrewdly. "You think it is a prelude to something larger."

  "No one would make a move like that and then not follow through," Cal agreed. "I think whoever is behind this will eventually come to you for help in reaching your people."

  "And how would you have me reply to them, human?" Tarl-Kan made a head movement that Cal knew signified amusement. "Should I advise my people to be well-behaved cattle, moving where you say, living as you say, worshipping as you say?"

  "I am less concerned about how you worship, Worthy Priest," Caleb tried to sound soothing, "and more worried about your young males needlessly dying in yet another war."

  "Yet you yourself have killed many of our young males," Tarl-Kan said, dark eyes shining in the firelight. "I know what you are, Tahn-Skii'ana."

  Caleb stiffened, shocked at the term. The Tahn-Skii'ana were the Tahni spirits of death that hunted down the enemies of the Emperor and killed them silently in their sleep. They were faceless, ghostly beings with curved talons that grew out of their hands, dripping with the blood of the unworthy. The commandos of Omega Group, the Glory Boys, had been designed to resemble the superstition in an attempt to demoralize the Tahni troops.

  And how the fuck would he know about any of it?

  "I was present for the Emperor's private councils," the priest answered as if reading his thoughts. "Towards the end, we knew about you." He made a sound that Cal knew was laughter, though he thought it might have been devoid of real humor in this context. "The Emperor became quite fixated on killing you, almost to the exclusion of more pressing matters. To the point where he used up one of our most vital intelligence assets to retrieve your names and images."

  The old priest leaned back, casually tossing his ponytail off of his shoulder and down his back. "I know who you are, Caleb Mitchell, and I know what you are."

  Cal's b
rain was working furiously, trying to decide how to respond. Finally, he decided to bull through it without even bothering to deny.

  "If you know what I am, Worthy Priest, then you know I'm not afraid of death," Cal said, eyes and voice turning hard. "Nor am I a stranger to war. So you can trust my word when I tell you that what will happen to your people if you rise up now will not be a war. It will be a slaughter, and one that will stain the souls of my people even as it wipes your civilization from history. I have no great love for the Tahni or for you, but I would spare our conscience from having to kill you."

  The Tahni priest peered at him carefully, and even after living with Trint for four years, Cal couldn't read his face. Finally, he made a positive motion with his hand.

  "I believe you, warrior," Tarl-Kan said. "You have my respect as well, for your honesty and your concern for the soul of your race. Perhaps though, you should consider that it will not be as one-sided as you think...perhaps we are not alone in this fight."

  Cal tried to keep his face neutral. There was no telling how familiar this priest was with human body language and he couldn't afford to show surprise. So, there was a connection between Cutter's duplicates and the attack on the garrison station. They'd suspected it, but this was confirmation, at least to him.

  "I'd be wary of who you consider allies, Worthy Priest," Cal warned him. "The enemy of your enemy is not necessarily your friend. It may be beneficial to whoever arranged the attack for you to rise against the Commonwealth, but will they care when your people are dying in the streets? Will they care enough to come to your aid?"

  "To use a phrase you humans are fond of," the priest answered him quietly and calmly, "time will tell."

  Cal, we got trouble. You need to get out here.

  "Shit," Cal breathed, rising to his feet and heading for the door.

  The latch mechanism gave him a moment's pause, but his headcomp prompted him to pull the correct lever and the massive door fell open at a touch. Stepping outside, he could hear them before he saw them: a hollow drumbeat of biphase carbide on aggregate pavement coming around the corner towards them. He caught the furtive movement of insect drones swarming around them, broadcasting what they saw and heard back to the troops controlling them.

  Cal's eyes flitted toward the young Tahni males that had led them to the priest's house. They were looking toward their leader, clearly drifting into flight or fight mode.

  "You should get out of here now," Cal told them. "You don't want to get caught up in this."

  "We have to protect him," the leader said, setting his shoulders.

  "You can't protect him from them," Cal said, gesturing at the corner, at the steadily approaching crescendo. "Go now."

  The young male looked at Cal, locking eyes with him for a moment. Then he spoke quietly to his fellows and they turned down the street away from the approaching troops, walking at first but then quickening their pace to a jog. Cal let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding; he really hadn't wanted to hurt those kids.

  When the armored Fleet Marines rounded the corner, it was almost a letdown. There was only a single squad, a half dozen of the armored hulks, led by a tall, striking woman in the uniform of a Fleet Intelligence officer.

  I guess Fleet Intell does leave the office every now and then, Holly commented to Cal via neurolink, the snide tone of the remark making it through the digital translation.

  Cal ignored the barb, watching the armored troops spreading out in a semicircle around the back door to the multistory building, watching the uniformed woman as she approached him. Her skin was the color of aged hardwood, her eyes were slate grey, and her blond hair was cut shoulder-length. Cal knew that the military didn't allow cosmetic manipulation of skin, eye or hair color for anyone on active duty, so she obviously came from a family wealthy enough for pre-fertilization genetic selection. Cal wondered what the hell she was doing in Fleet Intelligence.

  "You're Commander Morai and Captain Mitchell," she said in a smooth, well-modulated voice as perfect as any other part of her. It wasn't a question. "I was informed by Major McIntire that you might be here."

  She wasn't offering introductions, so Cal read her identity off the data encoded in her military ID chip. Holly beat him to it, though; which was only fair, he thought, since she outranked him.

  "That's us, Commander Del Toro," Holly confirmed. "Is there a problem?"

  "No problem at all, Commander Morai," Del Toro told Holly, smiling. "I just wanted to account for you before I sent my people in."

  Cal felt hackles raising on his neck as two of the battlesuited Marines approached the door to Tarl-Kan's room, one taking up a station to the side while the other moved directly to the door. It still stood partway open from where Cal had exited, so the trooper put a massive, armored hand against the door and pushed. The heavy portal swung aside as if it weighed nothing and light poured into the room, revealing the priest still sitting placidly on his bench, waiting with his hands folded.

  "Are you sure this is a wise move, Commander?" Cal asked her, hissing a sigh through his teeth.

  "Until I receive orders to the contrary," Del Toro replied, not bothering to look at him, "Fleet Intelligence is in charge of this investigation, Captain. The priest is a known anti-Commonwealth agitator."

  Cal bit back his instinctive reply. He was back in the military, nominally at least; he couldn't mouth off to a superior officer.

  "Step out of the dwelling with your hands behind your head," one of the battlesuits demanded in Tahni over its public address speakers, the voice of the man within sounding tinny and unnatural to Cal, as if it was from a machine.

  Cal saw the priest regard the machine with hooded eyes, and for a moment he thought that Tarl-Kan was going to make the Marines squeeze inside his apartment and pull him out. Cal fought back an inappropriate snort as he imagined one of the powered battlesuits bashing around inside the one-room apartment like a clumsy giant. But instead, the Tahni priest gathered himself and stood proud and straight before walking towards the door.

  The two Marines backed up, flanking him as he stepped through the opening and into the light, slowly and leisurely raising his hands and touching them to the back of his head. There was something about the way he walked, something about his stance that tickled at Cal's mind in a way he couldn't quantify. So when one of those hands came out from behind his neck holding a small handgun, Cal wasn't entirely surprised.

  It was a weapon designed to avoid scans, constructed of polymer and firing darts using compressed gas: Cal had seen them before, had used them before. The Machine in his head calculated that it would take him nearly a second to close the distance between himself and Tarl-Kan, and that this would likely be too late. It also worked out the priest's most likely target and calculated that he could, indeed, do something about that. Cal reached his left arm out and grabbed Commander Del Toro by the shoulder, yanking her backwards off her feet just as three darts passed through the space her chest had recently occupied, disintegrating harmlessly on the armor plating of one of the other members of the Marine squad.

  Del Toro's butt hadn't quite hit the pavement before the Marines opened fire. The armored suits were probably equipped with nonlethal crowd-control munitions, Cal thought, but in the heat of the instant neither of the troopers inside the armor thought to use them. Instead, converging bursts of laser-fire struck Tarl-Kan and erupted with a thunderclap of explosively heated bodily fluids; the concussion of his torso literally blowing apart knocked Cal and Holly to the ground meters away.

  Cal hit on his shoulder and rolled into a crouch, eyes darting around for approaching threats, but all he saw was the two armored troopers standing there motionless, the mottled surface of their battlesuits splattered in burned blood and bits of flesh. Commander Del Toro was picking herself off the ground, eyes wide, mouth in a taut line. Her sidearm was in her hand and he was impressed she'd had the instincts to draw it, though he noted it was shaking a bit.

  "Jesus," she
said softly, slowly lowering her weapon. "What was he thinking?"

  "He was an alien, Commander," Cal pointed out, hopping to his feet in a single motion, his voice sounding strangely calm in his own ears. "An alien who was a priest of a religion no human fully understands."

  "So?" she asked, tone harsh with adrenalin and annoyance.

  "So maybe we shouldn't assume we know how he'll react when we send a squad of Fleet Marines to arrest him," Cal said with a shrug.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young Tahni girl peeking around a corner of the building, probably from one of the families that shared the building. The females stayed with their fathers and brothers and uncles till they hit puberty, then they were sent to live with the women. She stared at them with eyes wide, her face a mask that Cal couldn't read.

  "I think we need to head back to the base," Holly Morai said quietly. Cal glanced at her and saw an unfocused look to her eyes that meant she was getting something over her implant neurolink.

  "What is it?" he asked, tensing up slightly.

  "Check out the local independent net," she said grimly.

  Cal saw Commander Del Toro calling up the net on her 'link even as he pulled it up via his implant communicator. It wasn't hard to find: it was the most-viewed story on the local indie network. There was no commentary yet, just a video. A video recorded by a remote drone, most likely operated from someone in one of the buildings around them. It showed the Marine trooper opening the apartment door and Tarl-Kan coming out with his hands over his head...and then skipped directly to a barrage of pressure-pulsed lasers blowing him apart. Then there was a location code that gave the street address, before the video began to repeat.

  Cal disconnected the link and glanced over at Commander Del Toro.

  "I think you might want to consider calling for a dust-off, Commander," he said, holding out a hand to Holly. She passed him his gun belt, but she was shaking her head.

  "I just tried," Holly told them. "Someone's running a jammer. We could triangulate and take it out, but..." She shrugged, waving around them at the surrounding buildings. "It could be anywhere within a half a klick and they could keep moving it."