Invictus

by Diana Palmer

  But that decision was torturing her. He knew, and did not trespass on her thoughts. But it saddened him, too. He had not expected to want the child, or its mother, so much.

  He paced his quarters, ignoring the flash channel on the vidmaker. In fact, he switched it off impatiently and disabled the link. Distractions slowed his mind.

  He became aware suddenly of an intrusion. It was cautious, and respectful. But it was there.

  He looked at the wall while his mind pictured an old grizzled face with thick white hair. For one instant, he felt a real and chilling premonition. The child and his relationship with its human mother was a capital crime...

  “No,” the old fellow said in his mind, very gently. “You have nothing to fear from me. I do not approve of what you are doing. It is far too dangerous. But I will never betray you.”

  Dtimun felt a shock at the statement. “We are breaking many laws,” he thought back.

  There was a brief laugh. “Your mother and I broke many more, in the old days. This is the sort of thing we would have done, in your place.” He became somber. “Komak told me more than he told you. I know where you are going, and why, and what you have to accomplish to insure the future.”

  “Komak is related to us.”

  The old one laughed in his mind. “You sound quite certain of this.”

  “He was a telepath. Only our Clan is so gifted.”

  “Yes, but in the future there will be much mingling of genetic material,” came the amused reply. “You have no idea what changes will come from the warwoman’s accident on Akaashe. She truly carries the future inside her, as your mother has said.”

  “You are speaking to my mother?” Dtimun asked amusedly.

  “Quite often. We are concerned for your safety, and that of your mate and your child.”

  Dtimun’s teeth ground together. “She is not well.”

  “Caneese has given instructions to Dr. Hahnson, who provided the medicines the warwoman is taking. Komak assured me that they would be effective, and that she would survive the pregnancy.”

  Dtimun relaxed a little. “It was unexpected.”

  “What was?”

  He shifted and moved away to the vidport, to look outside at the passing stars. “My...feelings for her, and the child.”

  “You want him, too.”

  He closed his eyes. He did not need to say the words. His father was quite adept at reading them in his mind, when his son was unable to block them. Strong emotion made it difficult to hide turbulence.

  “Yes,” Dtimun said finally. “I want him very much.”

  There was a pause. “You and I have been at odds for decades over an incident that you did not truly understand. Will you listen, if I tell you the truth of it?”

  Dtimun sighed and sat down in a comfortable chair. “Yes,” he said after a minute, and felt the old one’s pleasure in the word.

  “This is what truly happened,” came the grim reply. And an explanation was tendered that Dtimun had never considered possible. It came as a shock, and not a pleasant one.

  Dtimun’s perfect romance of the past took on new dimensions. He had idealized a woman whom the former Rojok dictator, Mangus Lo, had sent to assassinate him. His father’s intervention had spared his life. Nor had he killed the woman deliberately. She had come at him with a small poisoned silver dagger, the sort used by assassins. He had carried no weapon and thought the kehmatemer had secured the woman, but she freed herself and meant to kill him. He had grabbed a sword from the wall display only just in time to protect himself.

  The old one hesitated. “You know that she was not pregnant,” he said with some surprise.

  “Yes. Since I felt my child in Madeline’s womb,” Dtimun replied. “I knew nothing of pregnancy in those days. I accepted what the Dacerian woman told me.” He sounded bitter. “I thought I loved her. But I know the difference, now.”

  “You were young. Of all our children, you were the most sheltered,” he added solemnly. “Alkaasar was groomed to be my heir. My youngest son would have been given a military command, at some point. But most of my hopes rested in you, as the most able military commander of our empire.”

  Dtimun was caught by surprise at the praise.

  “Your theories of command, your combat strategies, are taught even at the Tri-Galaxy Military Academy,” the old one continued. “You have surpassed my greatest expectations. Of my three sons, it is of you that I am most proud.”

  Dtimun felt a jolt of emotion that he tried to hide.

  The old one’s voice smiled. “The warwoman does not know what you risked to go to her rescue on Akaashe. One day she will. I value her, as the Nagaashe said when they contacted me. All of us do. You cannot think that I would permit the two of you to be put to death for breaking a stupid law.”

  There was surprise in Dtimun’s silent thoughts. “Stupid?”

  “Indeed,” the old one replied. “And even now, change is being debated in the Dectat. There is a growing movement to offer citizenship to Ruszel for the miracle of the treaty with the Nagaashe, and to give her a military rank.”

  That was a bigger surprise. “You are using threats and intimidation to accomplish this,” he accused.

  The old one laughed. “I probably would, if it became necessary. But it was one of our more racist representatives who suggested it before I could. Ruszel is revered by the lawmakers. Even by my critics.”

  “My mother said that this is in line with the prophecy.”

  “I feel your mother’s gentle touch in the fulfillment of this prophecy,” the old one chuckled. “And Komak’s. You must know that it would have been a simple matter to simulate a pregnancy for this operation.”

  Dtimun frowned. “Madeline mentioned it, but I felt it would be discovered and the mission lost.”

  “Caneese and Komak presented a united front and accomplished their goal with no interference at all. Such an event could not be hidden from me,” he added smugly. “I know everything that happens in the empire.”

  “Yes,” Dtimun answered. “You always have.”

  “However, since the law is still in place, and my...position...requires me to obey it, I can know nothing of the mission or the pregnancy or the bonding.”

  “I will remember,” he replied with a smile in his tone.

  “That being said,” the old one continued, “I could not be more pleased at your choice of consort.” He chuckled. “Komak was quite insistent that the true history of this time should be written, but I refused to let him publish some of my controversial actions. He said that my reticence in the future was responsible for his trip to this time.”

  “What specific controversial actions?” Dtimun asked, distracted.

  “For one thing, contacting our most formidable enemy commander to bargain for Ruszel and her two subordinates on Akaashe, since we had no treaty with the Nagaashe. For another,” he added, “my complicity in your efforts to save that same enemy commander from removal by his own emperor. The public, I fear, would not understand.”

  Dtimun nodded. “That is possible.”

  Dtimun got up and paced some more. “There are two other matters. She does not know the truth about us, or about me.”

  “She was willing to give her life to save yours,” the old one reminded him gently. “And you think your true appearance would alter those feelings?”

  “They very well could. You must remember what happened with the colony of humans. I can never forget.”

  The old one was sad. “A mistake, one of many I made in the early years, when I was learning how to command. It has colored our relationship with humans for many decades. But the humans of your Morcai Battalion revere you,” the old one told him. “It will not matter to them. And it will certainly not matter to Ruszel, who has the heart of a galot.”

&nb
sp; “The inheritance laws...” Dtimun began.

  “You are concerned that your son, who will be of mixed blood, will not inherit your lands and titles,” the older alien interrupted. “I am trying to address this issue in the Dectat now.”

  A rush of pleasure accompanied the words. Dtimun had lived in grief and sorrow for many years, and not only because of the Dacerian woman’s death. Now, he felt some sort of hope for a future he had not thought possible.

  “She will have to live on Memcache,” the old one continued. “Her Ambassador Taylor would find a way to have her spaced if she ever returned to Trimerius.”

  “Yes, I know.” Dtimun’s face set in hard lines. “I would like to snap his neck.”

  “Plans are in motion to deal with him,” the old one said. “Do not interfere. You will be pleased at the end result.”

  Dtimun sighed. “Very well.”

  “It will mean a recognition of your true place in our government,” the old fellow continued quietly. “A public one. And a public bonding ceremony. You will have to step down from command of the Holconcom, as well.”

  “I know.” There was deep sadness in the words. “It is not that I mind the change. Madeline and the child will more than make up for the loss of command. But I had hoped that Komak would replace me one day,” he said heavily. “I grew fond of him.”

  “So did we all. We will see him again,” he added, and there was amusement in his tone.

  “When?”

  “Soon,” came the reply. “But for now, as debate continues, you must not divulge what I have told you. I am not here. You told me nothing. I have no knowledge of your bonding or the child your mate carries.”

  Dtimun chuckled out loud. “Very well.” He hesitated. “Madeline did not want a child,” he said suddenly. “The regression and the mind wipe were her own solution.”

  “You should try harder to penetrate her mind,” the old fellow told him. “She sings to the child in some strange ancient human tongue. She weeps when you do not see her. She mourns the child already, as she mourns you. She expects to go back to the Amazon Division when this mission is over, and into a forward unit, where she hopes to die...”

  “What?”

  “...to die, in order to free you from the bonding so that you can take another mate, a Cehn-Tahr mate whose child can inherit your lands and titles,” the old fellow continued after the interruption. “Even now, she seeks to protect you from what she thinks of as the stigma of fathering a child onto a human female.”

  “That is absurd!” Dtimun burst out. “There is no stigma...!”

  “I am telling you her thoughts. She will block you from seeing them. She has had help, learning to block telepaths. Do not ask, I will not reveal her confidant,” he added before Dtimun could speak. “She will do what she thinks is best to save your career and your life.”

  “I will lock her in a closet and swallow the key,” Dtimun said haughtily.

  The old fellow roared with laughter. “There is an easier way. Tell her how you feel. You hide it so well that she has no idea that you want her or the child.”

  Dtimun shifted restlessly. “I was taught from childhood never to display emotion, lest enemies in the Dectat saw my feelings and used them for their own agenda.”

  “It was a lesson well learned, and valuable,” the old one replied. “I had to learn it the hard way. My feelings for your mother were used to coax me into policies I detested. When I learned that I was betraying myself, I became adept at concealing my true feelings in public.”

  “Indeed.”

  The old one laughed. “Yes, I have even concealed them from you and Caneese, and my other children. You are the last of our line,” he continued. “I had thought that a lesser member of the aristocracy must one day take your place in the inheritance, because you refused to breed. But your choice of mates is magnificent. And the future will be remarkable, because of your child’s influence.” There was a deep chuckle. “And he will not be the only child.”

  Dtimun’s breath caught. “With Madeline?”

  “Of course.”

  Dtimun felt the impact of emotion like a blow. He sat down on the edge of his desk. He had never considered that there might be even one child. And now...

  “A warrior should have many children,” the old fellow said. “Male and female. But he should spend time with them, give them affection and guidance, and love them. I have failed terribly in this regard. My aim was conquest, and I sacrificed everything and everyone dear to me in that goal. My regrets are legion, my sorrows without number. I grieve for my dead children, and my lack of insight that might have spared them in the flower of adulthood.”

  Dtimun had a faraway look in his eyes, which were a somber blue. “Komak was fond of blaming fate for these tragedies. Karamesh, he called it. He had a philosophical outlook which I lack.”

  “He is a student of many fields, and an expert in some. His accomplishments will revolutionize our world, and many other worlds. He will be quite famous in the future.”

  “Who is he?”

  There was a pause. “I will tell you, when the time comes. It has not, yet. First things first. You must maintain contact with me covertly. I will help, if I can.”

  “I am grateful.”

  “You take great risks, you and the warwoman, for an enemy.”

  “Chacon was never that, personally.”

  “I know. It grieves me that we find ourselves in opposite camps,” the old one told him. “Chacon will eventually overthrow his government, however, and unite his people with the Cehn-Tahr.”

  “You have been listening to Caneese’s prophecies,” Dtimun chuckled.

  “No. I have been listening to Komak,” came the dry reply.

  “He told me very little.”

  “He did not dare,” the old fellow replied. “The future is not set in stone. It can be altered. He told me the timeline and made me promise not to interfere in any of this. I could only get him to agree to let me contact you and provide help when I could. This he permitted, and he did finally understand why I concealed public knowledge of my part in these actions.”

  “It is a strange concept, making the future.”

  “Very strange. But if you succeed, the future is assured.” He paused again. “You must take great care of your mate and my grandchild. Caneese and I are quite excited.”

  Dtimun laughed. “So am I.”

  “Do not let the warwoman out of your sight.”

  “You may depend on that.”

  “And take great care of yourself, as well,” came a quieter, more intense admonition. “We have been at odds for decades. But there was never a time when I did not love you, or wish you well. You are my only son. I...could not bear to give you up.”

  Dtimun bit his lip and tried to conceal the rush of emotion the confession drew from him. He was not successful.

  “And do not offer to trade the warwoman for a Yomuth at Benaski Port!” came a gruffer, humorous addition.

  Dtimun laughed. “It was a joke. I would never have done it.” He paused. “Lawson will find it difficult to pursue his combat strategies, now that I have withdrawn the Holconcom. I am certain that it has caused great anguish in the Council. But it was the only way I could get around Ambassador Taylor’s orders, and to save Madeline. The humans give their ambassadors more power than even their political leaders.”

  “I know that. The Dectat knew, also, and your actions were approved. As it happens, they produced a grand result, the treaty with the Nagaashe. No one will oppose your bonding in the Dectat now. In fact, it will be acclaimed.”

  Dtimun sighed. “I am in your debt.”

  “Of course you are. I am your father,” came the smug reply. “Let this be a lesson to you. As when you were very young, you cannot hide things from me.”
/>   “In the future, I will not try to.”

  “Wise thinking. We will speak again. Walk with care.”

  And he was gone.

  * * *

  DTIMUN WONDERED WHETHER or not to share his conversation with his father with Madeline, and decided against it. His father was risking a great deal to offer him support, even in his position. One innocent slip of the tongue could make much mischief. He couldn’t risk that. Not yet.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BENASKI PORT WAS built on an asteroid in the Catarus Belt, as it was called locally, a point roughly midway between the planetary systems of the Cehn-Tahr Empire and the Tri-Galaxy Council of Planets. It was the most lawless place known to humanoid life-forms, because no formal law existed there. There was Port Security, but it was a joke; its officials could and did take bribes.

  Outlaws and outcasts, pirates and their pursuers, diplomats and beggars, lived in a colorful neon jungle of light and shadow, all situated under a huge glass bubble on the asteroid’s surface. Glass, on a terrestrial planet, would shatter easily. But on an airless moon or asteroid, it attained the strength of steel.

  There were cheap apartments midtown and luxurious dwellings on the outskirts of the city, near the spaceport. It was to the latter that the skimmer delivered Dtimun, Madeline and Sfilla.

  “I will handle all the arrangements,” Sfilla assured them, climbing out first. She ran toward the main building of the small complex. There were artificial plants and flowers in stone planters, and a holopond, complete with CGI fish. It looked very real. Madeline almost trailed her fingers through the “water” before she realized what she was doing.