“That’s romantic,” Becker said dryly.
Acorna could tell there was much Nadhari was not saying and didn’t wish to say, for reasons of her own. Perhaps the reasons were connected with the emotional problems Becker had described on the way to MOO. But until she was ready to talk about it, it did little good to press her for more information.
Instead, Acorna asked, “Nadhari, the aagroni wanted some information about the Makahomian Temple cats. He believes, having seen RK, that there might be some connection between them and a species that existed on Vhiliinyar before the Khleevi attack. I would like to speak with some of the high priests about them. How much exposure have your people had to people not of their own species? Should I disguise myself, or would it be best to simply present myself as a Linyaari ambassador?”
Nadhari considered, then said, “You will have to—in fact, any of us would have to—obtain a permit from the Federation officials to enter the cities or countryside, and especially to interact with any of our officials. Even I will have to, since I have been away so long.”
“Surely they wouldn’t keep you from seeing your family?”
“I cannot be sure any of my family members still live,” Nadhari said. “My mother was killed by a band of mercenaries unrelated to my father, who was at that time off fighting for another Makavitian tribe involved in a blood feud with Aridimis. My brother was killed defending my mother and her Temple.” Nadhari was remembering the tawny cat, accidentally wounded with a great gash in its side, growling over her mother and brother, defending their bodies against all comers, while a little girl screamed desperate war cries and kicked and chopped until she was so exhausted her laughing opponents were able to simply scoop her up and carry her off. “But when the mercenaries who killed them found me and learned who my father was, they ransomed me to him. He was killed in a battle soon after the one in which I was taken prisoner.”
In Nadhari’s mind, Acorna saw the blood and heat of the battles, the gaping mouths of wounds and splintered bone. She smelled the stench of overheated bodies and felt the weapons slip with the sweat of hands. Heard the crunch and dull thwuck sound of blunt objects striking flesh, the ring of metal as it sought targets.
Becker whistled. “You haven’t had a dull life, have you? No wonder you haven’t been homesick!” Acorna noted that although he appeared to understand Nadhari’s motives, he was still gently probing. The concept of a settled home was more alien to him than the Linyaari were. His childhood as a Kezdet farm slave was ended by his adoption by Theophilus Becker to be son and first mate aboard the Condor. The ship was Becker’s home more than any planet, much less any town or city.
Nadhari’s rainforest memory shifted to one of hilly lands covered with riders of beasts who looked a bit like the Ancestors, without horns, and yet were not quite Terran horses. The people riding the beasts were ferocious looking, with bristling facial hair. And they gave way in Nadhari’s imaginings to red-robed hairless figures, in the background, and flat-roofed houses looking out over an even flatter plain. These places had all been home briefly to the girl Nadhari had been.
Acorna began to wonder if the accident ending in the Condor becoming stranded near Makahomia was an accident after all. Becker was bluff and jovial with her, but also was a shrewd man, sometimes every bit as sly as Hafiz. Blaming RK was convenient, as the cat was unlikely to challenge him, at least verbally.
“It isn’t only that. Without a family, as an acolyte, you become the tool of the ruling priests. Some of them are good, holy people. Others are where they are only because of their influence and family connections and because they wish to exercise power over others. Only the Temple cats,” she said, stroking RK, who slitted his eyes and purred appreciatively, “can be trusted to be always completely honest in their reactions and judgments. They protect the Temples, the acolytes, the priests, and the people—especially those they favor. They attack, when away from the Temple, only for food or when threatened. It is a great tragedy when one is killed or injured—even for the side attacking.” She fell silent, her thoughts returning to the injured tawny red-tipped cat dying beside her mother and brother as the rain dripped onto their bodies.
“It sounds as if your cats are as revered as our Ancestors,” Acorna said. “And yet your people have so many wars. What do they find to fight over?”
Nadhari laughed. “What do they not fight over? The tribes of the rainforest are wealthy, with water and growing things needed for medicines and food. Our Temples are the most elaborate, our cats the closest to the wild state, our jungles teem with wild things good for food and clothing. The people of the arid zone have no water, few plants. My father’s people of the plains would perhaps be the greatest targets for attack were they not the fiercest of all fighters. They are nomadic, herding beasts from river to river, using the arable land for short-term crops when there is sufficient peace to grow them. They are often the object of attack from both the arid zones and the forest. But more often they fight for one side against the other, gaining the forest treasures for the desert folk and the sacred cat’s-eye gems for the forest tribes. These are the material reasons for our warfare. We also fight for the same reasons everyone does: sport, power, love, honor, territory, revenge, loot, or slaves, or to free ourselves from slavery if we are captured.”
“Your people still keep slaves?” Acorna asked. “And the Federation permits it?”
“They didn’t interfere on Kezdet while the slavery served a purpose, did they?” Nadhari asked with a shrug. “While we fight each other, we are not threatening those with real power out in the galaxy. Our own priests have the power that matters to them. And as long as our wars employ nothing but traditional weapons and stay confined to our planet’s surface, the Federation feels that our Quaint Native Customs can be honored. I didn’t realize all of this until I began to work for Delszaki Li on Kezdet and learned from him more about the uses and abuses of power. As his personal guard, I was beside him always. Mr. Li was not a man to look down upon someone simply because he paid them wages. He talked to me a great deal. He taught me much of the history of the peoples who settled Kezdet. And I came to realize some of the reasons my people never found peace, although there has always been much sentimental talk of it.
“Our leaders do not actually desire peace any more than they desire annihilation. Our wars serve many purposes. They are the main business of our priests. The priests fan the conflicts to maintain a constant sense of danger and a state of emergency so people will not question their actions or motivations. The wars solidify loyalties and make simple things like starving seem trivial by comparison. The fear of death and destruction keeps the people occupied. And then there’s always something for the fighters to look forward to: the thrill of acquiring loot and slaves, the joy of decreasing the population—preferably that of your enemy, of course. There are a very few cultural safeguards in all of this that have kept us from destroying the planet. Our people do not engage in wholesale slaughter of non-combatants, and we do not seek to decimate the gene pool of the opposing side by disposing of those with brains or talent when we have the opportunity. As terrible as I find the conflicts, they are not as terrible as they could be if our people followed another path.”
“But nobody else on the planet sees this the way you do?” Becker asked.
She sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t been back since I was a child. It seemed to me then that people didn’t think about anything much at all. Things were as they were; allegiances shifted, but there was always an allegiance to something. There was always something to defend and something to hate and fight. Most of us have been partially raised in all three areas of the planet, sometimes as slaves, sometimes as steppe-children of the tribes we live among. We fight only each other. The Federation is here now to protect us from outside threats like the Khleevi, so we ourselves are our only enemies.”
Becker shook his head, saying, “It still sounds weird to me. Not that I’m ethnocentric or xenophobic or anyt
hing.”
“If we wish it, we need know nothing of what is going on on the planet. The Federation officials may require you to fill out forms before allowing your repairs and refueling, but you need not see any two-legged Makahomians except me unless you seek to do so. If the officials permit Acorna to carry out her mission, they may arrange for the priests to come to the Federation post. It will all be very civilized. At least, if things are still as they were when I left.”
Nadhari paused, as if unsure of the wisdom of continuing. Then she went on, saying, “You know, Jonas, when we get to my planet, it might be a good idea if you and Acorna do the talking for us while RK and I keep a very low profile, at least until we know what we’re dealing with and who.”
“Why hide RK?” Becker wanted to know. “Won’t the pussycats back at your home be glad to see the big guy?”
“Taking a Temple cat from Makahomia is frowned upon,” Nadhari told him. “Keeping him hidden could be good for your health. Such a theft is punishable by death.”
Three
Death? But I didn’t steal him,” Becker protested. “I rescued him. Surely they wouldn’t want to kill me over that—that’s killing the messenger. On the other hand, do you think they might try to keep RK there on the planet if they find out about him?”
“Probably so.”
Becker looked down at RK, still in his harness in the seat between them, and said, “Looks like no shore leave for you, mate. I don’t suppose there will be any fuzzy hussies we can smuggle aboard either. Sorry, old man.”
RK glared up at him, then dropped his chin to his paws. By this time they were well outside the atmosphere, trailing along in the wake of the Arkansas Traveler, floating through space in the tractor beam’s embrace like a patchwork ballerina.
Acorna passed the journey to Nadhari and RK’s home planet learning Makahomian with the help of her friends and the LAANYE. Since Acorna was a quick study with languages, she seldom needed to absorb them in her sleep, as most Linyaari did. By the time Captain MacDonald towed them within sight of Makahomia, Acorna and Nadhari were conversing easily in the warrior woman’s native tongue.
Their first sight of the planet was impressive. Makahomia was redder than Mars ever had been, a rich rusty orange red, with two moons and two suns.
“A lot of iron in your soil,” Acorna remarked to Nadhari.
“Yes. Our iron makes excellent weapons, especially when alloyed with some of the many other metals so abundant on our planet.”
Even the clouds were reddish and swirled at high speeds over the face of the planet.
Nadhari confirmed with Scar the landing zone coordinates, and he made initial contact with the planet, asking for landing permission and stating that he had answered a Mayday call and had a disabled Federation-registered ship in tow.
The Condor’s crew audited the exchange over the com unit but, out of consideration for Nadhari and RK, left the vid screen off. Nadhari nodded to Acorna, scooped up RK, and exchanged seats with her, moving RK’s tether harness to her own seat.
“The disabled ship will please identify itself,” came a clipped and sober voice.
Becker gave his name, ship’s name, and registration.
“Passengers and crew?” the voice demanded.
“Yes, we have those, too,” Becker said. “Do you need their names and origins now?”
“That will not be necessary. Officials will be boarding your ship when you land. We will tight-beam immediately the list of documents you will need to show us. Please have the relevant papers ready.”
“We aren’t going to stay long,” Becker said. “Just till I can repair my ship and we can refuel.” But no one seemed to be listening to him. The resulting com silence was deafening.
“Not a friendly place you’re from, Nadhari, sweetie,” he said to her after retrieving the list and scanning it.
“How surprising. After all, I am such an amiable sort myself,” she said.
“Compared to that guy, you’re the life of the party,” Becker grumbled. “But there shouldn’t be any problem, should there? We’ve got all the papers they want. We’re landing right where they said to. The place is perfectly safe, right?”
“It was when I left, yes,” Nadhari said.
Acorna punched into the com unit and leaned forward to fill the vid screen. “Your pardon, good sirs. I am the Linyaari Ambassador Acorna Harakamian-Li. I was sent by my people to make inquiries regarding the history of a certain Makahomian life form. Could you give me the name of the ruling head of this area, so that I may address my written request for an audience with that person appropriately?”
It appeared that someone was listening, after all.
“The Federation commanding officer in charge is Lieutenant Commander Dsu Macostut,” a clipped voice answered on the com, “and he is the one who will need to approve your request before it is passed along to the High Priest of Hissim and the Aridimi Plateau, Mulzar Edu Kando sach Pilau dom Mog-Gim. We will apprise the lieutenant commander of your arrival.”
“Ahhh,” Acorna said in what she hoped was an elite ambassadorial tone. “Many thanks, good sir.”
“Edu?” Nadhari asked when the com unit was safely off. “Edu is in charge?”
“Glad you’re on a first-name basis with the guy, sweetie,” Becker said. “Can I just call him Ed? I can’t remember the rest of that stuff.”
“No,” Nadhari said, emerging from her preoccupation long enough to touch his cheek fondly. “Just like you can’t remember the star maps from most of the known universe including uncharted wormholes, black holes, and other spatial features the regular physicists haven’t named yet. You’ve got the best memory of anybody I know—until you hit something you don’t want to remember. The name is actually very simple, Jonas. ‘Mulzar’ is the Mog-Gimin title taken by the high priest who is also the warlord of the plateau. The current Mulzar is Edu Kando, who is what you might call my cousin—or in the local parlance, my steppe-cousin. His father was captured by my mother’s sister on a raid the Felihari made before I was born. So like me, he is a Kando, of the rainforest. The ‘sach’ indicates his paternity, usually from a captive. My father, when captured by my mother’s people, became Murgad Div fron Kando, to indicate his ties to my mother’s family. As he was never captured or fostered on the Plateau, he had no ardo name. I, on the other hand, am actually known here as Nadhari Kando sach Div ardo Rek. This indicates my mother’s surname, my father’s clan in the steppes, where I was taken after my mother’s death, and the name of the Mog-Gimin clan to whom I was sold after my capture.”
“Oh, well, sure, it’s simple when you put it that way,” Becker said. “Sach means your steppe-name, and that other word—”
“Ardo,” she supplied.
“Means your desert affiliation. But his affiliation wasn’t ardo—it was some other word.”
“Dom,” she said. “No one from the Mog-Gim Plateau captured him—he conquered the plateau.”
“Of course. I knew that,” Becker said. “Absolutely nothing to it when you get used to it. And hey, what luck is that anyway that he’s one of your family! He’ll probably want to have a big ol’ reunion. We can say we didn’t tell the Feds about you because we wanted to surprise him or something.”
She nodded, the muscles in her jaw rippling slightly. “He will be glad to see me,” she said tersely. Acorna looked at her sharply, but Nadhari’s jaw had relaxed and a rueful smile hovered around her lips. The warrior’s mind was once more opaque, but Acorna noticed that Nadhari had omitted saying whether or not she would be glad to see her cousin.
Becker didn’t seem to notice, however. He just charged ahead at the verbal equivalent of light speed. “Well, that’s great, then. If one of your own people is in charge, we shouldn’t have any problem. Otherwise, I guess we’d have to hide you or rename you and dummy up some good papers, or at least you’d need to stay aboard while we made repairs. This way, maybe we can maybe do a little looking around while we’re here, visit the
garden spots, gawk at the Temples, stuff like that.”
“Yes,” Acorna said, her tone innocent but with an underlying question in it. “If your kinsman is the high priest, perhaps he can assist me in carrying out the aagronis’ errand to discover a possible relationship between pahaantiyirs and your Temple cats.”
“Yes, perhaps,” Nadhari said, though her apparent agreement was belied by her tone of voice.
Becker said anxiously, “Maybe he’ll even understand about RK, but you think maybe we should hide my buddy until we find out, huh?”
At that moment, Captain MacDonald announced that they were entering Makahomia’s orbit. “You reckon if I turn you loose now you can land under your own power, Captain Becker? Otherwise, it’ll be a little tricky setting ’er down with you still wagging behind me like the tail of Mary’s little lamb.”
“Of course we can land,” Becker said. “We’re not exactly invalids out here—though you couldn’t prove it in that mud puddle. Turn us loose and go ahead. We’ll be right behind you.”
“Jonas, we should report in to Hafiz.”
“Good idea. He’ll need to know about this little detour,” Becker agreed. But when he tried to access Manganos Moonbase for relay to MOO, the com unit remained blank and dumb. “I was afraid of that,” he said. “Can’t do the long-range stuff with the computers screwed up.”
They landed without incident, on dry ground this time. The Federation spaceport was very small. Becker set the Condor down beside the Arkansas Traveler. Both ships were instructed to have their personnel remain aboard until the Federation officials boarded their ships and inspected them.
“I just hate customs,” Becker said. “Now we gotta play ‘hide the kitty.’ ”
Acorna's Rebels Page 5
