Beyond Varallan

by neetha Napew

  And what exactly had he meant by one who is not one of us?

  I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I didn’t notice the door panel that closed behind me. Xonea’s voice finally got through my preoccupation.

  “Healer.”

  Reality snapped back into focus. I looked around, and discovered we were alone, in his quarters. The very last place on the ship I wanted to be alone with Xonea.

  At once I chided myself. Xonea was my ClanBrother. I was as safe here as I was in, say, Squilyp’s quarters. As long as Xonea didn’t think I was the culprit. If he did, my life wasn’t worth a vocollar franchise on Terra.

  “Nice place,” I said while prudently hovering near the only exit.

  His rooms were arranged with the harmonious elegance I’d come to expect from the Jorenians. Furnishings upholstered with countless shades of HouseClan Torin blue. Xonea’s weapons collection was seriously impressive, judging from the amount he had displayed on the walls. That, or his quarters doubled as this level’s armory.

  Besides the guns, knives, and other virulent-looking items, there were mementos of alien cultures. I caressed a dense cluster of transparent nodules and snatched my hand back as alien music spilled into the air.

  “Hey! What’s this?”

  “A singing prism from Udarc,” Xonea said.

  I saw the look on his face and took an automatic step back toward the door panel. “Um, why don’t we do this another time?”

  “No, it must be now.”

  “I just remembered I have to-“

  “Cherijo.” He pointed to a large divan. “Sit. I will explain.”

  An enraged Jorenian never offered to chat, so I relaxed and sat down. He offered refreshment. I politely accepted a server of jaspkerry tea. He paced over to the viewport and stared out at the stars for a long time. I sipped my tea, and tried not to wrinkle my nose at the overly sweet taste. Ugh, how did he stomach this stuff day in, day out? And why was he being so quiet now?

  “Xonea.” He turned around. “What’s wrong? Besides Tonetka’s Speaking, that is?”

  He crossed the room and sat down beside me. What little space there was on the divan abruptly vanished. This close to him, I felt as small as Jenner. His hand rested over mine. Another point in my favor. Jorenians did not hold hands with someone they intended to pound into the decking.

  “Do you know we were once a nonverbal race?” Xonea asked.

  I thought for a moment. “Kao said something about it once, how you evolved from a more primitive life-form. Most species do.”

  “The first humanoids on Joren were highly skilled predators,” Xonea said. “At first solitary, then banding together in small familial groups for cooperative hunting. Over time they settled into territorial tribes, and a complex social structure developed. The first House was born.”

  I tugged at the collar of my robe. “Was that when your people developed language?”

  “Not in the beginning. Our ancestors had no need to verbally communicate. Nor had they ever known territorial boundaries.” He went to his prep unit and made his own server of tea. Too bad, I would have happily given him the rest of mine. It was like drinking straight sucrose. “HouseClans began clashing over land, resources, and hunting rights. They had no method of negotiation, other than acts of violence.”

  “So they threw rocks at each other instead of chatting,” I said, rearranging my skirts. Maybe I should ask him to adjust the room temperature. My ceremonial robe was making me sweat.

  His brows drew together. “Wars are not fought with the throwing of rocks, Cherijo. Hundreds of thousands of our people died in the subsequent decades of conflict.”

  Now was not the time to mention Terran history. “Sorry.”

  “Over time, our people realized the only way to achieve lasting peace between the HouseClans was to develop specific disciplines regarding conflict. For that, we needed language. Joren became a united world, and never again suffered civil war. Those disciplines have never been forgotten.”

  “But you still have warrior-training,” I said.

  “We train as warriors, yes.” His hand tightened around his server. “Yet there is only one reason warfare is permitted-to defend the HouseClan.”

  “I’m with you so far.”

  He didn’t want to tell me the rest. I could sense that much. He emptied his server with two swallows and put it aside.

  “Cherijo, you must understand, we were a savage, ruthless species. Hunters without parallel. It is this part of our past that lives on in us today, when we protect the HouseClan.”

  “Most species have similar practices,” I said, and lifted my braid off the back of my neck. “Terrans have a number of cultural methods of self-defense.” So what was the big deal?

  “Do you know what an invocation of ClanKill entails?”

  I’d read a little about it; what there was in the database wasn’t all that specific. “If I remember correctly, when you say that to someone, you intend to kill them.”

  “Do you know the conditions under which it can be declared?” I shook my head. He sat down next to me again. “If an individual makes a threat against a member of the HouseClan, in the presence of the HouseClan, a warrior may declare the outsider as ClanKill. Roelm stated someone has threatened HouseClan Torin. He has charged everyone with what he could not do himself. We will take action on his behalf.”

  Not good. “Action against who?”

  “It could not be a Jorenian.” He looked away from me. “There are not many others left. Pilot Dhreen. Linguist Reever. The Omorr. The Chakacat. And you.”

  So that was it.

  “Xonea, I assure you, I haven’t threatened anybody. Dhreen, Reever, and Alunthri wouldn’t do anything to sabotage the ship. Squilyp is a resident physician, sworn to do no harm.” I wasn’t going to mention the incident with Salo and Darea. I didn’t hate the Omorr that much. “Why couldn’t it be one of the Jorenians?”

  “You heard Roelm’s Speaker,” he said. “Tonetka stated it was ‘one who is not one of us.’ “

  “Roelm was so paranoid about the engines he frightened a little girl, then walked out of Medical without clearance.” I felt I had to point this out. “I don’t know if I want to take his word on this.”

  “ClanKill is not invoked upon a whim, Cherijo. Not when it means one of us will have to eviscerate another being while they still breathe.”

  I got to my feet at once. “You’re joking.”

  “No.” He scowled at me. “Kao did not tell you of our traditional response to our enemies?”

  “He never said anything about disemboweling people!” Disgusted, I regarded a display of swords with new eyes, then glanced back at him. “These what you use to do it?”

  “No.” Xonea extended his hand, and flexed it. Six very sharp-looking claws suddenly shot out of his fingertips. “We use these.”

  “How convenient,” I said. The claws retracted. Kao hadn’t shown me that little surprise, either. I forced my lungs to slow down, and swiped at a trickle of sweat running down the side of my face. “You do give them a trial first, right?”

  “No.”

  “So how do you know they’re guilty?”

  “The threat must be repeated in the presence of a HouseClan member.”

  “That’s it?” I turned around. “That’s all?”

  “It is more than enough to justify invocation.”

  “I see.” I wanted to slap him. “Someone says the wrong thing, and you eviscerate them. Perfectly normal behavior. What was I thinking?”

  “Cherijo.” Xonea rose to his feet, came toward me, and seized my hand. His grip was hard enough to make me gasp. “You must tell me if you know of whom Roelm spoke. At once.”

  “I don’t.” I jerked my fingers away. If he didn’t cut it out, I might end up a ClanKill candidate myself. “I don’t know anything, Xonea.”

  Something strange gleamed behind his pale eyes. “I saw your expression when Tonetka Spoke for Roelm.”

  “
What’s that supposed to mean?” I flung out my arms. “Sure, I was upset. I knew what she said wasn’t going to make everyone applaud!”

  Now his hands descended on my shoulders. Not gently. “Cherijo, you must not conceal knowledge of the traitor from us.”

  My teeth clenched. “I’m not concealing anything. Take your hands off me.”

  He didn’t. “You were too eager to leave the ceremony.”

  “You dragged me out of there, remember? Besides, why would I want to hang around six hundred upset Jorenians? Someone might have taken a swing at me.”

  “No one would have dared touch you!” He shook me, hard. “Unprovoked assault has been banned for centuries!”

  “Really? What do you call what you’re doing now?” I yelled back. “Energetic hugging?”

  Xonea’s hands dropped away from me as though scalded. He took several deep, controlled breaths, then said, “I never meant to harm you.” When I rubbed my bruised flesh, he averted his gaze. “Your pardon, Healer.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not forgiven.” I was doing some deep breathing of my own. “How would you like being accused of sabotage? Did you kill Roelm, ClanBrother?”

  That really shocked him. Seven-and’ta-half feet of solid Jorenian went absolutely still. Color drained from his face, leaving it a chalky pale blue.

  “Never would I betray my HouseClan thus. Never.”

  “No?” To even things up, I decided to press the point, “You do know a lot about this buffer that supposedly never shatters. Then you haul me in here, hand me a bunch of attitude, and accuse me of conspiracy. Just what are you trying to cover up?”

  His hands worked convulsively at his sides. “I did not divert Roelm’s path. I brought you here out of concern for your safety.” He reached out, and I automatically took another step away. “Do not fear me.”

  This, from a guy who had nearly shaken my teeth out of my skull. “You think what you’re doing is making me trust you?”

  “I am... anxious.” A weary hand pressed against his eyes for a moment. “I never meant to frighten you, Healer. Please, your pardon.”

  Although I was still mad enough to deck him, I’d take that on face value. For now. “Okay. You’re pardoned.”

  “I would never betray my HouseClan, or force myself on another’s path.”

  “Right.” I mopped my face with my sleeve again. I’d better finish this and get out of here; the stifling atmosphere was unbearable. “Forget about it.”

  Xonea didn’t stop. “I cannot begin to express-“

  Damn Jorenian formality. “I got it, Xonea. You’re innocent. I believe you.” Good thing I didn’t go around eviscerating people who gave me a hard time. “This unprovoked assault thing-that ties in with ClanKill, right?”

  “No Jorenian would threaten another life-form, unless after invocation of ClanKill. It is-“ What he said was untranslatable. It was that bad.

  “Okay, I get the picture.”

  “Our people are incapable of such deviant behavior,” he said, looking very righteous.

  “But you think I might be capable of it. Or Reever. Or Alunthri.” I planted my hands on my hips. “Alunthri, for God’s sake, who never even raises its voice in anger.”

  He had the grace to look ashamed. “You are not born to us. Our traditions are unknown to you.”

  “It wasn’t any of the non-Jorenians, Xonea,” I said.

  “It will be determined.” He made a noncommittal gesture. “If you discover who has done this, Cherijo, you must inform me. At once.”

  “Okay, let’s say I find out, and tell you. What happens then?”

  “Our ways are very specific,” he replied. “The traitor will confess before the entire House. Outsider or Torin, ClanKill will be declared. If the traitor chooses the cowardice of silence, then a sentence of banishment is imposed.”

  I’d read about banishment while studying HouseClan protocols. For a Jorenian, it meant being thrown out of the HouseClan. Forbidden to return to the homeworld. Shunned by all Jorenians. Forever.

  “Why would someone risk so much?” Something suddenly clicked. “Hold on. Are non-Jorenians subject to the same law?”

  “Yes.” He thrust a hand through the hair above his furrowed brow. “I must speak with Captain Pnor about the others.”

  The others and I were in trouble. Automatically I thought of Duncan Reever, who always seemed to appear whenever that happened. Too bad he couldn’t pop in here now. Reever could-Reever!

  “Wait. I can’t prove I’m not the saboteur, but Duncan Reever might be able to. He can access my memories-“

  “No.” Xonea went to one of his weapons racks. His strong blue hand moved lovingly over a six-bladed knife with an ornate hilt. “I believe you, Cherijo. Linguist Reever need not be involved.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” I said. “But if I can prove my innocence, why would you want to stop me?”

  His fingers curled over the gleaming metal. “I accept your account. You have no reason to ask this of Reever.”

  “Xonea, he’s done it before-“

  “No! It is a violation!” Xonea’s hand flexed, and greenish blood instantly streamed down his long arm. He hissed and pulled his fingers away from one of the blades. A deep gash bisected his palm.

  “Oh, great,” I said, and hurried over to him. He was dripping all over the deck. I cradled his hand in mine and applied pressure to stop the flow of blood. It was going to need sutures. “Nice work. Feel better now?” I reached down and tore a strip of fabric from the hem of my robe. So much for my ceremonial outfit. “Let’s go to Medical and take care of this.”

  Xonea said nothing as he walked into the gyrlift. I came in behind him. His back was as uncompromising as his silence. Once we arrived at the Bay, it took a few minutes to repair the damage to his hand. Out of curiosity, I scanned the tips of his fingers.

  “These claws of yours are actually the tips of the distal phalanges,” I said, then carefully manipulated a finger and watched the thin bony blade emerged from beneath the overlying dark blue nail.

  Xonea gazed around from the exam table while I finished dressing the sutures. “It is very quiet here today.”

  “It is. We miss Roelm. He really knew how to liven things up.” I thought about the startling postmortem exam, then Roelm’s mysterious accusations. “Xonea, has anyone told you about how Roelm died?”

  “No. Captain Pnor desired the matter be kept confidential.”

  Pnor. No wonder he had tried to climb the dais and stop Tonetka from dropping Roelm’s bombshell. He must have guessed it was something bad, and how the crew would react.

  “Tonetka and I performed an autopsy on Roelm.” If there was a saboteur on board, he may have done more than mess with the stardrive. “He was probably right about the sabotage. It looks like he was murdered.”

  Anger over Tonetka’s Speaking subsided, but things were never the same after that. Captain Pnor made a very brief announcement that Roelm’s death and his accusations would be investigated. Most of the crew seemed restless and unnaturally quiet. Cheerful attitudes disappeared, and everyone appeared worried or withdrawn.

  Some of the Jorenians occasionally gave me odd looks, or stopped talking when I walked by them in the corridor. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. One who is not one of us.

  My problem with Squilyp didn’t allow me a lot of time to brood over it. When I wasn’t on duty, I was training with Xonea. My ClanBrother continued to harass me about withdrawing the solicitation, but I was adamant. Bad enough I had to learn how to deliberately inflict pain. No way was I going to be a coward and back out of a fight.

  There were other problems, too.

  “Oomph!” I landed flat on my back for the ninth time that session, and opened my eyes. Over me, Xonea stood in the classic death-strike position. I sighed. “Okay, you win. Again.”

  “Indeed.” I saw him tug at the warrior’s knot at his nape, then shake his head. Thick black hair, as long as my own, spille
d down his back. He had removed his uniform tunic a while ago, and was now wearing only a pair of loose-fitting trousers. His respiration was accelerated, and sweat glistened over bulging blue muscles. White eyes stared down at me as he extended one big hand. “Get up.”

  I was tired of getting knocked on my backside. With my hand, I grabbed his, then lashed out with my legs and knocked him off his feet. With a hard jerk I managed to yank him down on the mat beside me. He rolled over, but by that time I was straddling him, and thumped my hand against his sternum.

  “Gotcha.” I grinned as he reflexively grabbed my wrist. “Too late, pal. Your path is history.”

  He scowled at me. “That was not honorable.”

  “So I cheated. It worked, didn’t it?” I began to climb off him.

  “No.” He curled an arm around me to hold me in place. That was when I realized how intimate my position was. I was sitting right on top of his-“The Omorr’s pectoral bones render his chest invulnerable,” he said. “Show me where you would strike him.”

  “Xonea.” New heat flooded my face as I tried to shift my weight. “Let me go.”

  Instead of releasing me, Xonea made a quick move. A heartbeat later I was flat on my back and he was straddling me. “And if he pins you, thus?”

  “I haven’t a clue.” My new position made it even more difficult to act nonchalant. “You win, Xonea. Let me up.”

  “Cherijo.” His hands tightened, and I felt the tips of his claws extrude and lightly scratch my skin. I’d learned that only happened when a Jorenian was really, really angry. “You are too small, too frail.”

  I stared into his narrow white eyes. “For what?”

  One huge blue hand moved down the side of my body, and rested on my hip. His thumb rubbed a circle around my navel. “One direct strike here, and the Omorr will divert your path.”

  That wasn’t all that was diverting me. I arched my back, trying to dislodge his hand, but that only made the situation much, much worse. “Um, Xonea-“

  My ClanBrother’s voice lowered to a growl. “I will gut him if he harms you.”