by Diana Palmer
Fetus. The fetus. The baby. She sipped tea and tried to wrap her spinning mind around the fact that she was pregnant. When she and Dtimun had discussed this possibility, she had asked what they would do with a baby. She was a soldier, she had said, she had no place for a child in her life. But now, with the reality of it, she felt a connection with the baby that overwhelmed her. She was carrying a child in her body. She touched her stomach with a sense of awe and fascination. It wasn’t, she thought, anything like she’d expected.
Hahnson examined her again, and nodded when he saw the readouts. “You’ll do,” he told Madeline. “I’ll compound some of this for you in Caneese’s lab, in a laserdot. She and I will confer on a regimen as well, for your trip.” He looked from one stoic, impassive face to the other. “This is very risky.”
“We know,” Madeline told him. “But the future is at stake.”
He sighed. “Then I’ll hope for good results.” He got up and forced a smile. “Good fortune.”
Dtimun locked forearms with him. “In my lifetime, I have had very few friends. I have always considered you one of them.”
“Same here. Take care of each other.”
He nodded.
Hahnson left, and Madeline began to feel better. She got her second wind and looked up at Dtimun.
“Sir, do you think you might consider telling me what the devil happened with the physicians?”
His lips made a thin line. “The elder one made a remark I did not like.”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“She pointed out that your wounds were in the wrong place. Then she referred to the length of time we spent in the mating chamber.”
She cocked her head. She didn’t understand.
“Madeline, our mates are subjugated, as female galots are subjugated. The process is brief, and brutal, and it leaves wounds on the chest and abdomen, not on the back. Also it is a breach of protocol to enjoy it.”
“It is?” she asked, and mischief suddenly sparkled in her green eyes.
He glared at her expression. “You will never speak of this,” he said abruptly.
“Would I do that, sir?” she murmured innocently. “As you know, I always obey your every order.”
“You never listen to an order unless it suits you,” he correctly curtly. “But if you ignore this one, you will pay for it.”
She gave him a wry look. “I’m not in the habit of discussing intimate things,” she replied. “Besides, people may speculate, but no one will ever know what happened in here, anyway.”
He lifted an eyebrow haughtily. All at once his own eyes went green with amusement. “For which we are obliged to the architect who soundproofed the chamber,” he said with the straightest face she’d ever seen.
He had rarely seen her speechless. It was amusing. Her face was almost as red as her hair. She averted her eyes with obvious embarrassment.
“You fought me,” he mused.
She cleared her throat. “Sorry,” she said, thinking it was probably another breach of protocol.
“You need not apologize,” he chuckled. “I quite enjoyed it, once the shock wore off.” He knelt beside her and touched her long, damp hair. His eyes met hers. They gleamed like pure gold. It was a color she’d only seen in them once before. “I do not like submission,” he said in a husky, deep voice. His hand gripped her hair, hard, and pulled her face under his so that he could see directly into her eyes. He looked down his long, aristocratic nose at her with blatant possession. Her breath caught. The sensations the action aroused were new and shocking.
“That’s a good thing,” she said unsteadily, “because you’ll never get it from me.”
He smiled. He rubbed his head against hers in an oddly feline way, making a caress of it. His hand relaxed and speared through her long hair, savoring its softness. “We mated only to produce a child, to enhance a covert mission...or so it began.” His hand contracted again and he growled softly as the contact with the soft skin at her nape produced delicious sensations. She felt them, too. “It is strange, to find such compatibility between two such different species.”
She touched his chiseled mouth with her fingertips. She lowered her eyes to his bare chest. She fought a laugh. “The physicians seemed quite shocked.”
He laughed, deep in his throat, and rubbed his cheek against hers affectionately. “So was I. I have never taken so much pleasure from a female,” he said bluntly. His hands pulled her gently to him and enfolded her. “I deeply regret the violence at the beginning. But I did tell you once, did I not, that passion is always violent.”
She slid her arms around his neck and held on tight, closing her eyes. “You did, but I didn’t understand what you meant until now. Despite those—” she pulled back and stared at him suspiciously “—those dreams I had, that you said you weren’t responsible for.”
“I lied. The discomfort began to affect my ability to think rationally.” His hands smoothed her shoulders gently. “The ‘dreams’ are one of several coping strategies we employ in order to survive the long abstinences,” he told her. “Each time we mate, a child is created. One is dangerous. Two at once is a death sentence, even for a Cehn-Tahr woman.”
He was explaining something, very discreetly. “You mate only to have children?”
“The customs and culture of our society dictate that,” he agreed.
She cocked her head and her eyes twinkled. “Dictate it. But do people really abstain between children?” she asked. “Komak said they didn’t.”
“Since we do not discuss such intimate behaviors openly, the question is not easily answered.”
That brought to mind something that had piqued her curiosity before. She sketched his face with soft eyes. “Those holovid generators at Kolmankash,” she murmured. “Are they really used for vid games?”
He smoothed back her damp hair affectionately. “When we are separated from our mates,” he said, “they permit an intimacy which is almost indistinguishable from reality,” he said after a minute. He looked at her sternly. “This is another thing you will never share with an outworlder.”
She saluted him.
He glared at her.
She laughed. “We agreed a long time ago that I’m discreet,” she reminded him. “I never tell anything I know.”
He sighed. “No. You never do.” He looked down at her body in its thin covering. “How does it feel?” he asked suddenly.
“Feel?” she repeated curiously.
“My child lies in your womb,” he said slowly, as if the idea, the concept, was a source of awe. His eyes, softly gold, met hers. “How does it feel?”
Her lips parted. She searched his eyes. “I don’t have the words,” she faltered. She touched his face and all the intensity of her feelings for him made her radiant, as if she were glowing inside with some secret heat. “You’ll have to find them, in my mind.”
Her awe and delight were there, along with her feelings for him, so intense that he almost felt the impact physically.
He seemed fascinated with her. And not just with her. His gaze dropped to her stomach. He reached down and touched it with just his fingertips, and caught his breath.
She frowned. He looked shocked.
As he was. The Dacerian woman had told him, decades past, that she carried his child. And now he knew that it was a lie. He knew it, because he felt his child, communicated with his child at some molecular level, sensed the child in every cell of his body. His teeth clenched as he relived the anguish just after her death. He had blamed his father. Now, horribly, he was forced to face his own error. If she had lied about one thing, it was certain that she had lied about others.
He recalled the Dacerian’s easy acceptance of him when they mated, her bland submission. It was different with Madeline. Madeline had fought him. But then, she had become as f
iercely responsive as she had been fiercely resistant. Madeline loved him. The Dacerian woman...never had. And he only now realized it.
She felt the indecision and sorrow. She smoothed her hand gently over his black hair. “You can feel the child,” she whispered, surprised that she knew that so certainly.
He opened his eyes and looked into hers. Sensation overwhelmed him. He felt comfort, sympathy, joy in her touch. “Yes,” he said after a minute, and he smiled gently. “I can feel our child.”
She leaned forward and touched her forehead to his. It was a moment out of time, when she wished the clock would never move again. She wanted it to last forever.
There was a faint noise at the door, like scratching. He lifted his head and stared into Madeline’s soft eyes for another few seconds. His were still that incredible shade of gold. She didn’t know what it meant. But before she could ask him, he stood up, suddenly remote and stoic, as if they were in his office together discussing strategy. The intimacy fell away at once.
He turned. The door opened and a tall, somber woman with her black hair in a bun approached them. She bowed.
Madeline looked at her with curiosity. She smiled shyly. The smile was returned.
“Sfilla,” the woman told her. She pointed to herself. “Sfilla.”
“Madeline,” came the gentle reply.
Dtimun turned to her. “Sfilla will be your companion on our journey. She will act as cook and personal aide, as well. She has been with my family for many years, and is one of its most trusted members. You will go with her now to your own quarters.”
“Yes, sir,” Madeline acknowledged.
Sfilla looked at her with astonishment. “You call him ‘sir’?” she exclaimed, and worked hard at pronouncing the unfamiliar Standard. Still, there was hardly a trace of an accent.
Madeline blinked. “I’ve been calling him ‘sir’ for almost three years,” she explained and smiled as she looked at him. “Habits are hard to break, even under the circumstances.” She shrugged. “Hey, at least I’m not saluting you,” she said in her defense.
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Do that at Benaski Port and I will lock you in a bath cubicle and lose the key,” he threatened.
In defiance, she stood at attention. “Notice I’m not saluting,” she said with irrepressible humor.
Sfilla giggled. Dtimun sighed. “It is a complicated situation,” he told the woman, with a wry smile.
“As you say,” Sfilla replied.
“Are all those people still out there?” Madeline asked suddenly, bringing Dtimun’s amused eyes back to her.
She was tugging at the flimsy fabric and looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“They have been told that the mating was productive,” he told her. “They have retired to the great room, where they will consume beverages and food for another little space of time, and then they will go home.”
“They won’t... I mean, they can be trusted?” she worried.
“Even if they could not, Caneese can be quite intimidating,” he chuckled. “I assure you, no word of this will reach the Dectat, if that is what concerns you.”
She nodded.
His eyes swept over her and narrowed with pure possession. She was more beautiful now than he had ever seen her. And she was his now. She belonged to him. She would never be able to mate with a human. It gave him a sense of utter delight to know that.
She didn’t understand the look in his eyes, one she’d never seen in them, and he didn’t answer her curiosity. He turned away and abruptly left the room.
Chuckling, Sfilla went to fetch a robe out of what passed for a closet and helped drape her in it.
“You must not be embarrassed,” Sfilla said softly when she noted the discomfort in Madeline’s expression. “It is part of life. And you have a child from it. A noble result. A son!”
Madeline hadn’t thought to use her wrist scanner. She touched the slight, hard mound with wonder. “A son.” The word sounded as if it held magic.
Sfilla laughed. “You have been a soldier for many years. Now you must become a Cehn-Tahr aristocrat’s consort, so that you are not identified at Benaski Port as the soldier that you are. That will be my chore, to tutor you.”
Madeline raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Sfilla pursed her lips. “And perhaps you can teach me the art of hand-to-hand combat,” she said, smiling at some private joke.
Madeline grinned. “Deal!”
* * *
LATER, AFTER SHE had bathed and a small meal had been brought to her, she sat in the sunlight filtering through her window and tried to make sense of what had happened. Everyone said that the mating was brutal and barbaric, that Cehn-Tahr women sometimes would forsake bonding because they were so frightened of it. Madeline had not found it barbaric at all, except just at first. She wondered what other females had found so terrifying.
“Passion,” Dtimun replied to her silent question.
Her head turned, her expression questioning. He was dressed in robes, as he had been when they attended the Altair reception. He looked elegant.
She smiled. “You said once that I would have nightmares.”
He chuckled. “I underestimated you. In many ways.”
“Sir?”
He groaned. “Madeline, you must stop referring to me as ‘sir.’ It will arouse suspicion.”
“Sorry.” She peered up at him. “I really have to stop saluting you, too?”
He glared at her.
“Okay, I’ll try. I promise.” She cocked her head. “I thought I might have sprains or broken limbs from the way everybody talked about it,” she said. “It wasn’t brutal. Not as I define brutality.”
He moved closer. “Cehn-Tahr women dislike physical boldness. A predator attacks weakness.”
She began to understand. His aggression had diminished when she fought him.
“Exactly,” he replied. He perched on the edge of the bay window that overlooked the formal garden. His eyes were a soft golden color as they searched hers. “You were not afraid of me.” He pursed his lips and reconsidered. “Well, perhaps a little, at the beginning.”
“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me deliberately,” she said simply. She glared at him. “Although...”
“It was unavoidable.” He chuckled softly. “And you were not without defenses,” he added wryly, and held up a forearm with tooth marks to show her.
“Sorry,” she said with a grin. “It was unavoidable.”
He smiled. “You bit me as a child when I helped your father rescue you from terrorists,” he reminded her. “I prefer spirit to acquiescence.”
“Fortunately for you, I’m never acquiescent,” she said.
He searched her eyes. It was only beginning to occur to him how large a place she occupied in his thoughts, in his life. “You know me as few people ever have,” he said after a minute. “I find it difficult to relate to most outworlders.”
“I know how you feel. I don’t get along well with most humans,” she agreed. “I’m very fond of Strick and Holt, but even so, I could never talk to them about things I could say to you.”
That made him feel warm inside. He didn’t like her closeness to the other males, but he didn’t remark on it.
“Would you have attacked Flannegan, that day in the gym?” she asked abruptly, alluding to an incident that had almost betrayed his need of her to the military authorities, before her nearly fatal crash on Akaashe. It would have cost him his life, if his government had found out.
“I would have killed him,” he said bluntly. “Possessive behavior is part of the mating ritual. Even now, Stern and Hahnson are not safe if they come near you.” He laughed shortly. “I had to fight my instincts to permit Hahnson to treat you. It was difficult.” His eyes narrowed. “I do not want another male to
touch you.”
She pursed her lips. “I’m glad to hear it, because I would go ballistic if any other female touched you,” she confessed firmly.
Her possessiveness of him was a delight. He smiled. “Jealousy. It is an odd concept. I have never felt it until now.”
“It’s just the mating ritual,” she assured him. “When we save Chacon and the princess and the child is gone, and my memory is wiped, you won’t feel it anymore.” She didn’t look at him as she said it. The removal of the child was something that hurt her even to think about. Amazing, since regressing it had been her own solution to the aftermath of their covert mission.
She felt a tremor in her stomach and put her hand on it with mingled delight and scientific curiosity. The cell division progressed at an exponential rate. Cehn-Tahr babies, she’d learned from researching in the fortress’s extensive library, grew at a vastly accelerated rate. Odd, that there were no pictorial depictions of them in any of the literature, she thought idly. She could not know that Dtimun had ordered the images concealed when he learned of her research efforts.
“Anything you require will be provided,” he told her. “And Hahnson will be nearby until our departure. I had Mallory sent to the capitol on a pretext so that she will not know of the pregnancy.”
She nodded. She drew in a long breath. The child was growing quite rapidly, despite the herbs that were meant to retard the growth, and it was painful. She had nausea as well, that became debilitating from time to time. She had to carefully monitor her health. The disparity in sizes between human and Cehn-Tahr was going to be a real problem if the mission lasted longer than expected. “When do we leave for Benaski Port?”
“In a few days,” he said. “The child must be visible when we arrive there.”
She looked up, frowning. “Why couldn’t I have pretended to be pregnant?”
“It would have been discovered. Cehn-Tahr are not the only telepaths in the three galaxies,” he said, surprising her. “The deception, once uncovered, would destroy any chance of saving Chacon and Lyceria.”
