“Is that why Jake is gradually separating the telepaths from the Dragon wing? To trade them to the Maril? They have been slaves to monstrous aliens for generations—millennia maybe—and don’t know any other kind of life, so slavery to the Maril is actually a step up for them. Their atmosphere won’t kill them.”
Pamela looked at him in shock. Separating the slaves from their masters. Something she didn’t know. That never happened. Another reason to regain control over Jake. He’d developed the bad habit of keeping secrets from her, despite his show of including her in his plans.
“Tell me,” she ordered as she dumped her own load of salt on the tasteless eggs and soy-based bacon. Healthy-smealthy. She wanted the real thing to go with her coffee. It too might be fake, but the caffeine additives made it work.
“First, he put them into their own wing without mercury added to the atmosphere. Their ship is docked at the fourth wing, which is otherwise empty and only half warm, in that cluster, then the Dragons inhabit the third wing with no access to their ship, an empty wing with no heat but an Earth standard atmosphere, before we have the humans in their own wing. Don’t know if the Dragons have remote access to their computers on board. Then he moved all the telepaths, including several children, to Medbay. Yesterday Major Mara had me write a program to filter the mercury out of the Dragon atmosphere a little bit at a time as it goes through recycling.”
“What is Doc Halliday doing with the telepaths in Medbay?”
Ray shrugged and shoveled food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in a month.
A waiter wandered by with coffee refills and a card reader. Absently Pammy ran her own ID through it, paying for both meals. The gadget beeped, revealing her balance. Not something she usually bothered checking. The CSS automatically deposited credits into her account every month, or when the balance dipped below a certain level. Operating expenses.
Credits. Just digital data, no real money exchanged hands in the CSS anymore.
She keyed in a small tip for the staff and pressed her thumb on the screen.
She wondered what the Maril used for money. Could they be bribed to give her the body? She’d use it to leverage Jake into the fold of her spy network. Presuming the Maril had it. What did they really want besides freedom from their own genetic breakdown?
Sissy nearly floated through the maze of rooms in Jake’s suite with the afterglow of love. They’d showered together, eaten breakfast together—he cooked! Something she’d never learned to do, as M’ma didn’t like anyone messing with her kitchen. And now he had settled into his office, so she went in search of Marsh and Ashel.
She found them along with Nanny Guilford and three unknown children eating their own breakfast of dried mixed grains with reconstituted milk. They all appeared in the same age groups.
“Sissy!” Marsh threw himself at her, wrapping his arms around her thighs. He used to only reach her knees. “Come and meet our friends. They come to lessons with us every day. Six more come later. They don’t like our kind of breakfast. There’s even two from the Maril, you know like some of the oldest bones you found in the caves. They have feathers instead of hair and are really cool, though it is hard to understand them without the . . . the device general Jake gave them.”
The boy had grown in more ways than just in size. A thrill of pride ran through her.
And then came the hurt, wiping away all of her joy. How did she tell her brother and sister that soon, within a day or two, they would have to leave the First Contact Café for good and return to Harmony? Could she honestly rip them away from their friends, their nanny, and from the happiness they’d found here? All Harmony had to offer them were horrible memories of death and destruction.
What did Harmony have to offer her?
Duty. She had a duty to return and bring harmony back to Harmony. All of Harmony, all seven castes, all six colonies, as represented by her array of caste marks.
How could her love for Jake be out-of-caste if she wore all caste marks?
Her head whirled crazily, and she had to sit down. Clumsily she chose an empty chair between her brother and sister so she could wrap them both into a big hug.
“Introduce me to your friends, Ashel, and tell me what your lessons will be today,” she said.
“We’re going to explore the gardens!” Marsh crowed. “Did you know there’s an entire wing dedicated to growing things, no room dividers, just rows and rows of plant beds. Do plants sleep in their beds like we do?”
Sissy laughed at the flood of words from a boy who’d barely put two of them together after the explosion that killed all of their extended family. An explosion meant to kill her.
And she had to go back to that world.
But in that moment she knew she had to leave Marsh and Ashel with Jake. Jake was their home, the space station the place where they flourished.
The only place she could breathe freely.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Lord Lukan, my condolences on your losses,” Jake said, forcing himself to frown slightly rather than betray his intense joy at finally being with Sissy. This man had to be suffering from intense grief.
“My thanks.” The lord nodded gravely through the long distance communications screen. “I called to tell you I will not be returning to the First Contact Café. Please ship the bodies of my family back on the first flight to Harmony.” His face betrayed no emotion. But then he’d been trained as a diplomat and political leader.
Jake sensed something more. Relief?
“Laudae Sissy informs me that she will be returning to Harmony within a few days. I presume she will include the coffins in her entourage,” Jake said.
The enormity of Sissy leaving hit him square in the gut. She had to go back. He had to let her go.
Duty. The death’s head of duty that ruled and ruined too many lives.
“That will be acceptable,” Lord Lukan replied evenly. “Does that mean you have found Laud Gregor?”
Damn, Jake knew he’d forgotten to ask her what she meant. But other things kept getting in the way. His grin spread from his toes to his heart. Like it had become a welcome part of him. He shouldn’t have to give it up. Give her up for politics.
“We have made progress in that investigation,” he said.
Lukan’s face sagged. He looked tired beyond exhaustion. This whole situation, politics on Harmony, losing his eldest son, and then his wife and unborn child, must weigh heavily on him.
“Sir, is there anything I can do to help on this end?”
“Not really. I just wish an end to the constant sense of insult every time someone mentions caste interaction. The Media Caste is now agitating for an end of the caste system. Not enough that we gave them back their own caste, neutral so they can report news without bias. They can be bought as easily as the Military man who blew up half the Worker housing upon my mother’s orders. At least my wife’s messages to every Noble house in the caste, offering huge bribes to anyone who will end Laudae Sissy’s tyranny, will stop now.” He heaved a sigh, exhaling enough air to disturb the microphone placement.
Surely Ianus would find some humorous retort to that. Jancee the Indignant. Or maybe the Willfully Ignorant?
“I was not aware of Lady Jancee’s messages,” Jake admitted. “I should have been. I presume she used the equipment and staff in the Harmony communications wing.” One of the conditions of trade and peace negotiations had been that the delegation kept their own comms, their own physicians, their own food production. Basically keeping themselves to themselves without the “taint” of contact with lesser mortals.
“Yes. She never left the wing reserved for Noble and Temple, the only class mixture she would acknowledge. Which was the heart of her problem.”
“Oh?” Jake didn’t know what to say. The man seemed to need to talk to someone who understood Harmony but wasn’t part of it.
“An old scandal that I unknowingly helped cover up,” Lukan said. He drew in a long breath of cleansing air. “No
w that all parties are dead, I feel the need to tell the galaxy and be done with it.”
Jake made sympathetic noises.
“Before my father arranged my marriage to Jancee, she had an affair with a Laud. Garrin was their son, not mine. She was pregnant when I married her. You know that with cross-caste children their caste marks always default to the lower?”
“I had heard that.”
“In her mind, the fact that Garrin bore a Noble caste mark meant that we were beneath Temple, not equal or superior. It preyed on her sense of superiority, so she had to assert it over and over again, in the most obnoxious way possible.”
“That would explain her attitude.” Jancee the Constantly Insulted.
“I’m not even certain the last child was mine. She kept hoping that Gregor being HP would make his caste mark triumph over hers and she could at last claim Noble superior to Temple.”
“Gregor?” Jake gasped. “I’d heard that he had little control over his . . . appetites, but he usually went for younger women.” As in working hard to be the first in Sissy’s bed so that she’d bear him an heir to continue control of the Temple.
Gregor the Old Goat!
Jake knew for a fact that Gregor hadn’t succeed. His grin threatened to spread as delicious memories overwhelmed everything his brain tried to tell him.
“Within Temple perhaps Gregor followed that line, so he could control those women. Get to them young and train them to his ‘correct’ policies. Among the Nobles, he was well known for alliances with any woman who expressed dissatisfaction with her husband.”
“Are there more children I should know about?” Jake searched for Gregor’s ghost and glared at him in disgust.
The ghost merely raised an eyebrow, superior and correct to the last.
“Probably lots of children who should claim Gregor as father but don’t. I doubt you need worry about them. He made a point of never acknowledging them or having anything to do with the raising of them. His attitudes and politics are limited to the chosen among Temple who seemed likely to carry forward his politics.”
Sissy wandered into his office from the direction of the schoolroom. He nodded to her briefly then returned his attention to Lord Lukan.
“Sir, I will do all in my power to return Laud Gregor to you promptly for proper and respectful burial so that Harmony can move forward toward rejoining the rest of the galaxy in our effort toward peace.” Diplomatic double speak he’d learned from Admiral Telvino, who conveniently had left the station on CSS “business.”
Lukan nodded. “I authorize you to select a full security contingent to accompany the remains.” The screen went blank.
Jake made sure he closed the line so that no one, not even Pammy, could reopen it remotely. Damn that concussion for scrambling his brains. He wasn’t sure he’d followed protocols on any or all his communications lately.
Then he pulled Sissy into his lap and kissed her soundly.
“Jake!” Pamela yelled through her link. “Jake, get off your ass and find every Security person on station. You aren’t allowed to be sick any more. You are needed. Now!”
“What?” Jake barked.
“Dragons and Maril are snarling at each other, and no one is around to translate. Cluster 25 in the hub.” She broke the connection and ran for the lift that rose from her office level. While she waited for the next platform, she checked the monitor that revealed the confrontation. Not good. A warrior Maril held a small lizard up by the scruff of its neck. It choked and squirmed, kicking its feet. The tightness of the bird’s grip nearly strangled the dangling lizard, its white skin making a stark contrast to black feathers.
Opposite the Maril, barely arm and claw distance separating them, stood a Dragon. One of the big guys, but not Mag the leader. This one was sort of jade and silver with its crest standing straight up and its scales puffed by air pockets next to the skin.
The lift moved too slowly. She took the stairs. Two levels up she had to stop and breathe deeply. Gravity was lighter here, she should be able to move faster. She launched herself up to the next and final level before the hub. Damn, she hated getting old. Or maybe she just spent too much time at her desk and not enough in the field.
Maybe they should just let the birds and the lizards fight it out—start a war with each other and take some pressure off the CSS and the station.
“Jake, get there fast! With the translator. The good one, not the half-assed clones that barely work.”
“Can’t carry my desk to the battle. I’ll do you one better. Medbay, I need four telepaths at the hub end of cluster 25. And I need them there an hour ago.”
Pamela heard his pounding footsteps in the background of the link.
She should have thought of that. But would Medbay have obeyed her commands?
No time, or breath, to question anything. She had a few tricks up her sleeve herself. She called for backup from her own people with some specialized equipment.
Then she hit LG1 and bounded higher and faster, leaving the ponderously slow lift far behind.
She had to slow down and adjust her pace when she flew into the hub. The emergency tram she’d ordered when she first headed up awaited her. It strained against the orders she’d given it on a highest security level override. Someone else called it as well. A full kilometer at least to the center of action. With her security clearances, the tram traveled faster than she could, even in nulgrav. And she didn’t want to appear in front of two dangerous adversaries breathless and frazzled looking. The tram would give her a few precious seconds to tidy her hair and smooth her uniform. She dove in, head first, punching commands into her link.
The tram sped forward fast enough to generate a sense of down to her left. She fought the urge to shift her body. Whichever hatch opened would give her the proper orientation.
An alarm klaxon blasted her ears. “Warning, this tram is exceeding recommended safe speeds. Warning. Reducing speed to recommended safe levels. Warning . . .”
Pamela silenced the annoyingly sweet voice and punched her override command again.
The tram barely slowed before coming to a direct halt beside the platform nearest the tense standoff.
She leaped free of the tram, brandishing a pulse gun. Not that it would do much good against a Dragon—she didn’t know for certain how much the scales were protective armor or just decorative display. From decades of war against the Maril, she knew this updated model would at least injure the bird and make it drop the white lizard.
She needed the white lizard alive, if not kicking, to testify against the Dragons for computer manipulation and the confidence game of a false mortgage.
Half a dozen security in station gray with gel armor and helmets spilled out of the next tram. Their pulse rifles cocked and aimed before their feet hit the deck.
Jake came hard on their heels in the next tiny emergency tram. Two frail strangers wearing bright Dragon jewel tones in their long jerkins over blousy trousers and shirts stepped free of the same vehicle more hesitantly. They tried to hide behind Jake.
“Thank you, mighty Warrior of the Maril,” Pammy said formally into Jake’s translator and added a short bow as an afterthought. “You have captured a most dangerous criminal for us. Security, please take custody of the white one and make sure he is secured with manacles.” The portable translator repeated her words in a series of squeaks and squawks.
Jake barely raised an eyebrow as the security detail elbowed past him, weapons still at the ready. The two timid ones nodded to each other, making a long eye contact.
The names, Janae and Timæus, popped into Pamela’s head. She’d never been introduced to either of them.
“Jad says the white one is a valued employee who would never commit a crime. He must be released this moment, or the entire station will suffer the wrath of the Diamond twelve,” the female in sapphire blue said in a flat emotionless voice.
“I witnessed this lowly worm insert an illegal program into the station computer. He will be
tried and punished,” Pamela returned.
The telepaths consulted each other in silence. Then they turned back to face Jake, equally silent.
“Have they passed that message on to the Dragon Jad?” Pammy asked.
“Don’t know,” Jake replied. He looked the female full in the face.
She blinked and lowered her eyes first.
“We will not speak of this to our masters,” the male whispered. “It’s not worth our lives.”
“Then translate this: We humans and members of the Confederated Star Systems do not recognize slavery. This station allies itself with the CSS. We will not accept slavery under any circumstances. The telepaths formerly owned by the Dragons D’Or have been classified as human by medical analysis. Therefore they cannot be slaves. I, General Jeremiah Devlin, do hereby offer sanctuary and freedom to any human, including the former slaves.”
This time Pamela raised her eyebrow at Jake’s audacity.
“Telepaths, send that message to this reptile,” she sneered the word as if it made Jad lower than the white worm. “The CSS is willing to unite with the Maril and go to war against all of D’Or.”
“Pammy?”
“I have the authority. I intend to use it.”
“I have greater authority,” Sissy said from across the tram rails on the other platform.
Or rather a hologram of Laudae Sissy in all her elegant, purple, beaded regalia. A telltale flicker across the shiny beads in her veil betrayed the projected image, rather than an in person appearance. The Badger Metal beads absorbed the light and looked more like black holes than decorative jewels. More evidence of projection, Pammy surmised.
“The Harmony Empire casts their lot with the CSS and Maril. We will go to war to end the physical and financial tyranny of the Dragons.” Above her head the glyph of Harmony appeared on the wall, firmer and more realistic-looking than the HPs of all Harmony.
Her mousey acolyte was nowhere in sight.
Jad cringed backward, hissing and flicking his tongue. Aggressive posturing while retreating. The white lizard screeched and went limp. The Maril warrior bowed in respect.
Mourner Page 20
