"The Surgeon?" the Emperor asked, astonished.
"He's signed it-which proves he's not much of an intelligence agent," Uuvek said. "A politician's maneuver, ensuring you know you have his support. But yes. He says he is planning to make your way in as easy as possible."
When the Emperor had cultivated the Surgeon as a source of sanctuary for the Slave Queen in the event of his demise, he'd never expected that relationship to develop wings this broad. To have the Surgeon actively participating in a coup? "One wonders," he murmured, "what my replacement has done to convince the Surgeon such measures are necessary."
"Maybe he's doing it because he likes you," the Ambassador said.
"Strangely," the Emperor said, "that might also be possible." At Uuvek's snort, he finished, remembering his conversation with Lisinthir, "But people rarely are motivated by a single reason."
"Usually one has primacy," the Ambassador said, and that was a concession. Offered out of love, and perhaps humor. "But indeed, why not maximize the potential benefits of any single action?"
Uuvek eyed them both.
"Can you identify the spies?" the Emperor asked him.
The other male's nostrils flared. "Not easy work. I'm a computer specialist, not an investigator."
"But?" the Ambassador asked.
"But I'm a computer specialist," Uuvek said. "Few people cover their tracks well enough to hide. And if they're spying for the opposition, they need to transmit that data somehow. I'll see what I find."
"Excellent. Thank you."
Leaving the room, the Emperor said in Universal, "You fear for your family member."
"I do." The Ambassador inhaled, let that breath out, his eyes never straying from their course. "But I can do nothing to change his fate, save arrive in a state sufficient to rescuing him."
"Will he need rescue?" the Emperor asked. "You never did."
An almost Chatcaavan huff then. "He is cut of different cloth, my cousin. I fully suspect he will have acquitted himself magnificently. I also expect that he will have overcommitted himself in the doing. He never does anything by half-measures."
"It is fortunate that we'll be underway shortly."
"Yes." The Ambassador smiled. "I'll miss our bouts in the base's gymnasium, however. There are Chatcaava I have not yet bested. I was hoping to invite more than one of them to try me at once, much as you did at your duel."
"Ah, that would have been a perfect end to the demonstration," the Emperor said. "I was hoping for some grand spectacle. I suppose what we have accomplished will have to stand on its own merits."
"We did good work."
"We did. But the true work is calling now."
"Exalted," the Ambassador said. "Lead the way."
Finding aliens on the naval base was no longer unexpected. Andrea had brought Crosby, and eventually some of the remaining Pelted from the Silhouette joined her on her visits. They traveled in groups; the Emperor thought that wise. It gave them confidence, and that confidence drove the Chatcaava observing them to question the wisdom of any mischief they might consider perpetrating on their Emperor's guests.
Andrea never pressed, but he made time for her anyway. They drank together, usually some form of tisane, and talked, and she bent his mind into uncomfortable positions that left him thinking for hours afterwards. Days sometimes. So tempting to consider the concepts she advanced alien, but they were only as alien as the Chatcaavan attempt to invalidate them as quaint notions belonging to earlier generations. Watching his naval personnel, the Emperor knew better. The ideals espoused by Andrea's elders had never faded from the Empire's fabric. Duty, honor, love, mercy, sacrifice... they'd withdrawn into the shadows, cloaked themselves in other names, been subverted-poorly-or whispered in confidence... but they'd never faded. The Chatcaava in power had privileged other values because those values had maintained their power over everyone else. That was all. That was enough.
The Emperor was overseeing the last of the preparations for their departure when Andrea appeared at his door. She was not alone.
"Arii," she said. "Do you have a moment?"
He glanced from Andrea to Dominika, who was standing alongside her. "Yes? What is it?"
"I've been talking with Andrea." The Harat-Shar pard stood at ease, her spotted tail curled behind her. "She told me about this Touching you do. That it doesn't hurt, and then you know a shape that isn't a clone of mine. It's something new."
"That's correct?"
Dominika nodded. "You don't know my species yet, do you?"
His heart began beating faster. "No, alet."
"Then I'd like to give it to you," Dominika said. A pause, too swift. "And any other Chatcaavan who wants it."
He sat, stunned.
"I've also been talking to Laniis," Dominika said. "I like her reasoning, that any Chatcaavan who takes us into them has a piece of us in them, and that piece works on them in ways we don't understand yet. You can hate something that you are, but it's harder work than hating someone outside your head."
Had he believed he'd missed the opportunity to finish his demonstrations in the training facility with a grand spectacle? Living Air!
"This is... a great gift, alet," the Emperor said at last.
"It's because you think so that I'm willing to do it." She grinned, eyes dancing. "Plus, I want to see if you're as cute as a Harat-Shar as I am."
He couldn't help but laugh. Andrea did too; she said, "I don't know. He's awfully cute when he's furry."
"I guess we'll find out, then."
"It will have to be today," the Emperor said. "We leave in the morning."
Dominika spread her hands, hip cocked to one side. "What are we waiting for, then?"
This time, the Emperor broadcast his intention to visit the training facility a final time before departing the system. The Ambassador accompanied him, with Andrea and Dominika behind them, and they entered the room to find it full... not just with the random numbers that could be found there at any time, given the shift, but with spectators who'd come solely for the entertainment. They expected another bout. He was glad of the opportunity to teach them that complacency would not serve them if they were to follow him.
The Chatcaava parted for them as they walked to the circle; reaching it, the Emperor stepped into the circle, and Dominika followed.
"Do you speak the language?" he asked.
She grimaced, showing teeth. The Chatcaava nearest her rustled, spotting the size of her canines. Even for one of the Pelted, she had unusually large fangs. "I can understand it but I'm not great at speaking."
"I'll translate for her," the Ambassador said, and positioned himself at the edge of the circle. "Go on, alet."
Dominika nodded and ran her eyes along the Chatcaava gathered around them before fixing her attention on the Emperor. "I hear you alone embrace the unique Chatcaavan ability to shift shapes," she declared, and the Ambassador's translation carried clearly a few heartbeats later.
"I am the only one here that I know of," the Emperor agreed.
"I hear you have also asked for the shapes you've learned, or accepted them as gifts, instead of stealing them."
He hadn't expected her to make that public, but watching the crowd react to the words made him glad she'd done so. Establishing rules for the rightful exercise of the Touch was important if they were to use it with sapients rather than the animals from which they'd first learned their patterns. "That is correct," he said. "One may take a pattern by force, but it dishonors the Change." He smiled. "A wise Chatcaavan told me once it was also easier to draw a complete pattern from a willing participant. She was correct."
Fewer whispers swept through the crowd at the revelation of that wise Chatcaavan's sex than the Emperor expected. He thought they were too intent on the proceedings, trying to guess what would happen next.
"You know three shapes," Dominika continued. "Is that correct? Eldritch, human, and Seersa?"
"Yes."
"So you don't know mine."
"No, alet," he said, dropping the Universal word into the Chatcaavan sentence.
Dominika nodded. "I wish to make a gift of my pattern to you. Now, if that's acceptable."
"It is," the Emperor said. "And I thank you." He bowed to her, wings spreading, and the hush then was complete.
Dominika began to peel her clothing off. When he realized what she was doing, he said, "You need not."
"Maybe Chatcaava don't need to," she said. "But in my culture, all important rituals are conducted nude. We come nude from our mother's wombs. We wed naked. We are buried naked, and the mourners who weep over our empty shells do so nude." She finished kicking off her pants and drew her shirt over her head. "This is ritual. I come to it naked, as the angels made me."
The Emperor let his robe slide from his shoulders. Andrea appeared at his side to take it from him, and accept his trousers as well. When he finished, Dominika said, approving, "You need not."
"I am accepting your shape," the Emperor said. "I will honor your customs."
The Harat-Shar flowed toward him, every movement languid. He remembered admiring her pelt when they'd been imprisoned together, the great ragged splotches of gray and black rosettes torn over the caramel and brown pelt. He wondered if he would inherit the patterning with the shape and hoped so.
She was still coming. He began to tell her that he only needed her hand but by then she had her arms around him, sliding her hands up his arms, his shoulders, tracing the muscles of his neck before cradling his face with them. Her palms were wide, the skin satiny and warm, and the rest of her body pressed against his in an embrace far more intimate than he would have asked of anyone who had been a Chatcaavan's harem slave.
"Now," Dominika murmured, husky. "Learn."
The Emperor brought his hands to her shoulders, gentle, and leaned into her, fell into her. Tasted the passions and the graces of her species, drew them into himself, got lost in her until he became her and the fur slid up his arms, his neck, washed down his body, taking his wings, lengthening his tail. He felt her brow press against his, and her fingers tracing their way up the back of his head where they could lace now without the interference of horns. He knew her nearness with senses he couldn't source, smelled her musk in a way lost to his draconic shape. When he smiled, his lips pulled back over oversized fangs, and she laughed, tapping one of them.
"Lucky boy," she purred. "You got my intrarace's teeth."
He laughed too, a rumble in his chest, and let her pull away to walk a circle around his body. From what he could see he'd received the beautiful ragged splotches, but his were black and silver on white and a taupe so desaturated it was nearly gray.
"Oh, my," Andrea said, eyes wide. "You're glorious! And Nika's right, you're clearly a clouded pard. I hadn't thought about whether you'd end up some other kind of Harat-Shar, since there are so many of them."
The Emperor faced the Eldritch, shifting his weight from foot to foot, fascinated at how limber this shape was. Maintaining the Chatcaavan tongue, he said, "Try me now, Ambassador."
"So soon? You're barely a newborn, Exalted."
"And a newborn I'll stay if you keep talking instead of assisting me."
The Eldritch laughed. "Good point." And feinted toward him. The Emperor dodged, almost stumbled, found his balance swaying back to center almost as if programmed. "Interesting."
"Different?" the Ambassador asked. "Humans have similar feet."
"The weight distribution is not the same," the Emperor said. "I can't say how, either. Again?"
The Ambassador chuckled, doffing his coat and offering it to Dominika, who took it with an appreciative leer. Facing off against the Emperor in blouse and pants and boots, the Eldritch said, "A working holiday, ah, Exalted?"
"Always."
The pattern-gift had been stunning enough. This, though, was beyond the experience of the spectators, because the Emperor let them watch him move through his uncertainties with the new form, experimenting with its strengths. He and the Ambassador discussed the results after each grapple or throw, debating the use of each shape in Chatcaavan, so everyone could understand. When uncertain about his perceptions, the Emperor applied to Dominika for her opinion, and after her first surprised pause she entered into the conversation with gusto, explaining her own experience of being Harat-Shar and anything she'd observed that differentiated it from other people. She used Universal when she wasn't confident of her Chatcaavan, and Lisinthir translated for the audience, many of whom were no longer pretending disinterest. Several were even leaning closer. Nor was Dominika the only one with opinions: Andrea added hers now and then, and as they were formed by her medical training they were particularly incisive.
When he'd judged they'd spent enough time, the Emperor bowed to the Ambassador, and again to Andrea and Dominika. "Thank you. That was instructive."
Dominika grinned. "You like it?"
He paused, laughed. "I love it. It's a handsome shape with many excellencies."
"I don't think he's as cute as you are, though," Andrea said.
"In fairness, that would be hard to pull off," Dominika said, smug. She stretched, muscles rippling under her fur, all still on display; she hadn't dressed. "Is it my turn again?"
"It is," the Emperor told her, grave now. "Shall I introduce you?"
"No," Dominika said. "I can handle it with the Sword's help." She padded into the center of the circle and said, "What I have given to the Emperor, I now offer freely to any Chatcaavan who would like to know the Change."
Lisinthir translated, and the offer hung in the resulting silence. The nearest Chatcaava wore expressions of shock; the Emperor couldn't blame them. Her offer, in public like this and after the Emperor's acceptance, was practically a challenge. He wondered if he should have warned her that she might not have any takers.
But amazingly, the crowd shifted to allow a male through its numbers. He was older than the Emperor expected, a grizzled veteran with the stiffness of one too many injuries. He wore the uniform of base security rather than a naval emblem like the majority of the onlookers, and that explained some of the hisses; even if the Naval Chatcaava weren't sure they wanted to learn the Change, they didn't want some non-Naval male doing anything first.
This male reached the circle and looked from one side of the crowd to the other, eyes narrowed, before facing Dominika and bowing. No matter the mess of his body, his wings were splendid, scarred but supple. A fine offering, the Emperor thought, for a courageous pard.
"I would know your shape," this male said. "If you are willing to grant it to me."
"I am," Dominika said.
Amazingly, he began undressing. Brows lifted, Andrea scooted to the other side of the circle and held out her free arm for his clothes. His head jerked back, but he looked at her carefully and then ceded his garments.
Nude, he went to Dominika. She touched him, and he Touched her, and the Living Air sent a kind wind because he didn't stutter through it, or fail, or have to ask instructions. It took him longer than it had the Emperor, but when he succeeded he gasped and flung his head back, pupils dilating.
"Yes?" Dominika asked him, gentle.
"Yes!" he said, still wide-eyed.
"So?" she said. "Show us." When he hesitated, she said, "You can. It's your birthright."
The Emperor could not have chosen better words. The male hugged himself, wings sagging... and Changed. And if the transition was more halting than the Emperor's, that was to be expected. He was new to it.
The male made a handsome Harat-Shar, though his black spots had darker gray centers and were scattered over a deep tan coat that recalled his brown hide in Chatcaavan shape. Taller than the Emperor, though, and thicker through the chest. Staring down at his new hands, the male flexed them, turned them to look at the furred backs. "I thought it would be soft," he said, and petted one of them. "And it is, but only on the outside."
"An accurate summation of the aliens," the Emperor said. "I have a learned a great deal, accepting thei
r patterns."
"Anyone else?" Dominika asked.
The Emperor expected no one to accept her offer, so the twelve people who came forth to ask her permission were a pleasant surprise. Standing alongside him to watch the proceedings, the Ambassador murmured, "I expected more reticence."
"So did I," the Emperor admitted. Glancing up at the taller male, he said, "You won't offer."
"My pattern?" A thin smile. "No, Exalted. I will not create more mind-mages. Besides..." The smile turned softer, sensual. "I give myself to very few people, and all of them must labor to earn it."
"My Perfection," the Emperor said with a chuckle. "Do you mean to tell me I deserve you?"
"If not you," Lisinthir answered, "No one."
For hours afterward, that lingered with the Emperor, with all its solemn and terrifying implications... and all the gratifying ones as well. He held on to the duty to live up to it as the pole star, and used the gladness that he had earned such confidence as fuel.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ceasing to walk the orbitals helped Jahir conserve his strength.
It also made his dreams less diffuse. They coalesced into a single theme, and that theme was fever. At first he thought his body drove those dreams, for the Surgeon had been correct in his assessment: the gag's abrasions, which might have healed in any other situation, were being aggravated daily, and festering. But he spotted monsters in these fevers, and skinned things twisting like strands of DNA, crying endlessly for surcease, and those... those were alien things. So much so that his instinct was to recoil.
Recoiling had never won him anything. Courage and an open heart had opened every door that mattered.
The next time he found himself on his pallet in his room, alone in the dark, he waited for the surging pain and heat and embraced it until it scalded his skin away and the piteous screaming filled his mind, and still he held on.
The fever abided, but the maelstrom of writhing shapes cracked away and left him floating in a heat as fierce as a womb's. And he was not alone.
Who are you?
Jahir answered, soft, I am the Silence Between Stars. Truth. But not the whole truth. Healer. Galare. Cousin. Partner. Heartbrother to an alien. Lover of maidens; seeker of knowledge. Beloved son. Lord and Lady's child.
From Ruins Page 25
