“Okay.” He carefully set her on her feet and got up from his chair. “Think they’ll mind their guests of honor slipping away?” He indicated the Seyotahs with a nod.
“They’ve been honoring us and praising us for two days, now. Besides, half the crew is probably already in the gardens.”
“Oh? With who? Three-quarters of the ship’s crew is male—not that I’ve inquired about their tastes.”
“Well, I don’t know for sure, of course, but I’m guessing that the Seyotahs aren’t all that different from us,” said Regina, giggling.
Crawford’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. I must admit I hadn’t given any thought to that sort of fraternization.”
“Well, then think about this kind.” She kissed him again as they wobbled down a set of stairs from the terrace they’d been on. “Besides, a lot of the Seyotah girls are very pretty.”
“Not as pretty as the one I’ve got right here.”
“Why thank you, Charles, I was starting to wonder if you’d even noticed.”
“I’ve noticed,” he pulled her a bit closer. The steps wandered down from terrace to terrace toward the main level the gardens were on. They passed many of the locals who all greeted them warmly. Just as they reached the bottom, a voice from behind called their names and they turned, still entwined. Crawford blinked and then detached himself slightly when he saw that it was Petre Frichette.
“Petre, what are you doing here?” said Regina in a slightly peeved voice. “And how can you stand this heat in that uniform?”
“Sorry to intrude, but we may have some trouble brewing.”
“Nothing new,” said Regina, swaying and leaning against him. “We’ve had trouble brewing from the moment we got here.”
“What’s up?” asked Crawford, not sure he really wanted to know.
“The locals have stopped celebrating long enough to listen to Citrone’s message. They’ve asked us what it all means. In fact, all the clans are sending delegations here to discuss the recent battle and ask us for an explanation. Governor Shiffeld is dispatching Beatrice Innes here to take part, but I’d still like you two involved. It might get a little sticky.”
“Yeah, it might…”
“When is this meeting?” demanded Regina.
“In two days, I’m guessing.”
“Good. Plenty of time. Now go away, Petre.”
Frichette frowned and then suddenly seemed to notice how close they were standing. His eyebrows shot up and then he smiled. “Oh. Sure. Talk to you later.” He walked away blushing an interesting shade. Crawford pulled Regina closer again.
“Okay, where are these nooks and crannies?”
* * * * *
“I’m sorry, Brannon, I really am,” said Carlina Citrone. “Did… did the Anderans kill all of your people?” She stood next to him at his desk and touched his shoulder, cursing the clumsy environmental suit which cut her off from him. It seemed as though she could feel his anguish inside her. With each passing day it was becoming apparent that the ‘thought transfer’ he had performed on them had had far more effect than either had anticipated. She felt a real sense of loss and hurt over the death of Herren Caspari, even though she had never met the man.
“Nearly all of the warriors,” he whispered, looking up at her. “A few dozen were captured by the Seyotahs, but that was all. Oh, Life! Everything I touch turns to death! I had just wanted them to save the birthing crèche!”
“And they did, Brannon, they saved the babies. You had no way to know they would call on the Anderans for help or that they would slaughter your warriors the way they did. But you saved the babies! Cling to that thought!” He nodded but then bowed his head again over his clasped hands. Praying? Yes, probably. He was a devout man; Carlina could feel the depth of his faith.
She stepped back and let him be, unsure what else to say. For lack of anything else, she quietly looked around his office. She had been here several times in the days since she arrived, but that could not account for the sense of familiarity she felt. More of Brannon’s memories? She went over to a set of shelves filled with small sculptures. A sense of happiness filled her when she realized that these were all gifts from grateful parents who Brannon had helped over the years. She picked up a delightful one of a baby, done in some hard, shiny stone. She’d noticed that sculpture seemed to be in the blood of these people. Their asteroid base was filled with statues and carvings, and nearly every square centimeter of rock had been decorated in some fashion. They took the harsh material of their unforgiving environment and turned it into something beautiful.
She sighed and put the carving back. She continued her tour until she came to a photograph of a woman. A flood of warmth, followed by a stab of pain, instantly revealed just who she was—who she had been. “Your wife,” she whispered.
“What?” She turned and saw Brannon looking at her. She hadn’t thought she’d spoken so loudly.
She stood aside and pointed. “This was your wife? How did she die?” Her borrowed memories were mostly feelings and impressions, rather than hard facts.
“Yes, my wife. Her name was Felitta.” He paused and sighed. “She died a few standards ago of a genetic defect. They’re common among my people. We were the last and the most complex of the Lifegiver’s creations. Sometimes… sometimes I wonder if the Lifegiver was not quite finished with us before turning us loose.”
“I’m sorry,” said Carlina. “She was very beautiful. And to die so young…”
“Oh, that photo was taken a long time ago. Felitta was actually fifteen standards older than me when we wed. Our lives together were very rich, though not as long as either of us wished. You know, it’s odd, but in some ways you remind me of her.”
“And no children?”
“No. The defect in her would have made it very difficult and… and we had so much to do with our work here.”
Carlina nodded. A lifetime of making children for others, but none for themselves. She shook herself. “So what happens now?”
“What? What do you mean?”
“This whole situation: the clans, the Anderans, the Venanci. Me. You.”
“I don’t know,” he said with a long exhalation. “All of the other clans, even our traditional allies, have condemned the attack on Panmunaptra. And they’ve heard your broadcast. Delegates from all the clans are gathering at Panmunaptra to discuss what should be done.”
“What do you think they will do?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea—and at this point I hardly care. I’m through trying to meddle in things too big for me.”
“No. No you are not, Brannon!”
He stared at her in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“You must finish what you’ve started! The World Stealers are still coming and you must warn your people!” Even as she said the words, it seemed like someone else was using her mouth. What was she saying?
“But… but how?”
“Go to Panmunaptra! Tell them what you know!”
He shook his head. “Who would believe me? What proof do I have?”
“You have me! The Anderans will be there, won’t they? Spreading their lies? I will come and tell them the truth!”
His expression turned from despair to worry. “That would be very dangerous, Carlina. A truce has been declared which would cover me, but not you. If we went there, you might be taken and turned back over to your enemies.”
“I’m willing to take the risk.”
“But I’m not. I… I care about what happens to you, Carlina.” His words sent a thrill through her that made her gasp, briefly fogging her helmet.
“I will not stay behind, Brannon. If you go—and you will—I am going with you!”
“Life!” he muttered. “You do remind me of Felitta. There was no stopping her.”
“Well, there’s no stopping me, either.”
“Wait, wait, there might be a way to do this. Do it safely, I mean.”
“How?”
A tiny smile
crossed his face. “You’ll think me crazy, but hear me out…”
* * * * *
“Regina? Charles? We need to talk.” Regina turned her head and saw that Petre Frichette was following them down the path in the gardens. They were in one of the other open gardens today, one of the ones they had not seen yet. A few days earlier she would have been irritated by the intrusion, but today she was feeling sufficiently mellow not to mind. She and Charles turned to face him, still holding hands.
“Yes, Petre?” she said with a dazzling smile. “What about?”
“The conference,” he said patiently. “I could really use your help there—or at least your attendance.”
“Why? I thought things were going pretty well,” said Charles. “They’ve condemned the Clorindan attack, praised us for our assistance, and confirmed the trade agreement. What more do we need right now?”
“And we did sit in for the first six hours. About as much as I could take,” added Regina. “Besides, you’ve got Beatrice to help you out.”
“It’s not as simple as that,” insisted Frichette. “Citrone’s broadcast has got a lot of them spooked. A minority right now, but they are gaining strength. They are worried that we are bringing our war into their system—which we are, I guess. And a Clorindan delegation is coming today.”
“Here?”
“Yes, it’s that same priest who was on Starsong—the same one who warned the Seyotahs of the attack—he’s been granted immunity and he claims he has new information to present to the conference. Frankly, I’m a little worried about this. They could have whatever lies Citrone may have fed them. And while Beatrice is a help, her views are a bit… rigid. I’m going to need both of your help to defuse this.”
“Okay,” sighed Regina. “I was hoping to take a little nap this afternoon, but we’ll be there. When?”
“About three hours from now. But there is something else, something more important I needed to talk to you about.”
“What?”
Frichette glanced around, but they appeared to be alone. The great celebrations were over and most of the locals were back at their jobs. “I’ve just gotten the latest report from the fleet and it is not good. We’ve managed to get the point defense systems operating on my flagship and one of the cruisers, but that’s all. None of the main weapons on any ships aside from Felicity and New Umbria, nor any of the torpedoes, except what are left on New Umbria. There’s an outside chance we might get one or two of the ships fully operational if we have two or three more weeks, but I’m worried that we won’t have the time. And it might not be enough even if we do.”
“We knew this might happen,” said Charles. “What else can we do?”
“If we try a conventional, stand-up fight with even a modest Venanci force, we are going to lose. I hate to have to be so blunt, but with our weapons on manual control, their maximum range will only be a few thousand kilometers and the enemy will just stand off and pound us to bits.”
“You’ve explained all this before. So what do we do?”
“We’ve got to even the odds.”
“How?”
Frichette pursed his lips and looked around again. “We need the help of the clans,” he said softly, “to fight for us.”
“What?” exclaimed Regina. “You can’t be serious! They’d be slaughtered against a Venanci squadron! You saw what we did with one little ship!”
“Only because we knew they were there, Regina. Remember how only a handful of attack ships almost completely disabled Felicity when they took us by surprise? If there had been even a few more of them in that first strike, they would have won. With luck, we might be able to do the same thing to the Venanci. With their sensors and most of their computers disabled, we could fight them on even terms.”
“I still don’t like it. So many of them could be killed.”
“A hell of a lot of us are going to be killed without their help, Regina. And then the Venanci are going to be in charge.”
“Damn it! They don’t fight wars of their own, it’s not fair to involve them in ours!”
“They are involved,” said Charles suddenly. “Like it or not, they are already involved. And while I don’t like it either, I’m afraid Petre is right: we need their help.”
“And it will be their decision, Regina, we can’t force them to fight,” said Frichette. “If you won’t help Charles and I convince them, then at least don’t work against us.”
“All… all right.” Regina hesitated, not quite sure what she’d do when the time came. If the locals decided to help on their own it would be one thing, but if Frichette made any extravagant promises that she knew wouldn’t be kept, there could be trouble. “All right. Three hours, you say? Then I better get back to our quarters and change.”
“Why?” asked Frichette. “You look fine as you are.”
“Oh really?” said Regina. She grinned and stepped away from Charles and slowly turned around. The long gown she was wearing may have looked modest enough—until you really looked. The sheer material was designed to run through a random cycle from one hundred percent opacity down to about thirty—and she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“Oh. Ah, yes, change by all means,” stammered Frichette. “I’ll meet you in the conference area later.”
“Come on, Charles,” she said. “Just time for a shower, too—and I need someone to scrub my back.”
Six hours later, despite a really exceptional round of back-scrubbing, Regina’s mellow had all but vanished. The conference was going on and on with no sign that anything was going to be resolved. Petre had made his plea for assistance against the Venanci and made it well, but the reception had been decidedly mixed. A few had been strongly in favor, a few had been even more strongly opposed, but the vast majority of the people were undecided. Confused and undecided, Regina suspected. This whole situation must have been very difficult for the locals to grasp. And without understanding the consequences, how could they be expected to make a decision? And the Clorindan delegation was late. It was clear that no one was going to decide anything until they heard what they had to say. But that didn’t stop them from talking.
“Why don’t they just shut up and adjourn until the Clorindans arrive?” whispered Charles from beside her. While she wholeheartedly agreed with the notion, all she could do was shake her head and give his hand a squeeze. He had very nice hands; large, strong, and skilled. She liked his hands, and all the rest of him, too. Even discounting the ten years in cold-sleep, it had been too long since she’d had a lover. She suspected that it had been much longer for Charles. He was older than her, but not that much older, and his high-gravity physique was actually very appealing once she got used to it. And after she got past several thick layers of psychic defenses, the Engineer, the Shy Man, he was interesting, witty, and fun. She liked him. The fact that his career area was totally different from hers was nice, too: no feelings of competition. They could just accept each other as they were. And if something didn’t happen here in the next five minutes, she was going to drag him back to their quarters so they could accept each other some more…
“Uh oh, what’s happening now?” said Charles suddenly. She looked to the entrance of the conference area and saw a small crowd gathering there. The man who had been droning on and on about something stopped talking and looked that way, too. No one said anything as the crowd opened up and two figures moved through toward the front of the room. Regina had become adept and recognizing the different clans, so she instantly saw that one was a Clorindan, and it was indeed the priest who had been on Starsong. “He’s got a lot of gall to come here,” muttered Charles.
“There’s a truce in place, and he did try to stop the attack, so don’t get any ideas, Hon.” She patted his hand.
With the priest was a smaller figure, a woman clearly, but she had a hooded cloak over her breathing helmet and Regina could not see her face. The pair came to the speaking rostrum and paused.
“I am Brannon Gillard,” sa
id the man, “Archpriest of the Lifegiver and administrator of my clan’s birthing crèche. I come here to make certain facts about the Newcomers known to you. And to present a plea to you. And this…” He paused and gestured to the woman at his side. She reached up and pulled back the hood, revealing her face.
“Citrone!” exclaimed Charles. Regina gasped and grabbed his arm. It was true, it was Carlina Citrone.
“This,” said Gillard, “is Carlina—my wife.”
* * * * *
Carlina stood as rigid as a statue and stared back at the throng of people staring at her. She spotted several of the Anderans, including her old nemesis, Charles Crawford, but she did not quail. They dared not raise a hand against her now. She was no longer just some despised saboteur, now she was a member of the Clorindan clan—her husband’s clan.
Her husband.
She could still hardly believe it, but Brannon Gillard was her husband, and she was his wife. It was entirely legal and entirely binding, and almost entirely crazy. When he’d first suggested it, she’d told him he was crazy, but the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. As things stood, she was a fugitive with no one to defend her. But as a member of the Clorinda clan, she had rights and legal status. As a Clorindan, she could attend this conference with full diplomatic immunity. And the quickest and easiest way to become a Clorindan…
It wasn’t even unprecedented, Brannon had explained that diplomatic marriages between members of different clans happened from time to time and were completely legal. It had only taken a few hours to fill out the forms, a few minutes in front of some local magistrate, and it had been done. Married. Naturally, they would divorce or have it annulled or whatever they did here once the crisis was past, but it would serve very well for the moment.
“Have that woman arrested at once!” shouted someone in the crowd. She saw that it was one of the Anderans, although she did not recognize the woman. “And the man, too! He helped her escape!” The clan members looked uneasy and whispered among themselves. Brannon did not budge.
Across the Great Rift Page 35
