by S. L. Viehl
“Wait.” He made a small gesture of apology. “Your pardon, I had not expected… we never knew if her
child had lived.”
“Well, I’m her child, and now you do.” I didn’t want to ask about my father, but I had to know. “Have
you killed the man who sired me?”
“No. The oath we took prohibited seeking retribution against him and the others. There is much to
discuss.” He reached the door panel before me, and went on, though his lips were white and every word
seemed a huge effort. “You may petition the Ruling Council, and if you are sincere they will doubtless
grant you residential status. I cannot speak for the Raska until I hold House council, but it is unlikely that
my kin will accept a child born outside bond.”
Though I felt like I was being spit on again, I interrupted him with a laugh. “What gave you the idea that I
would want to live on Joren or have anything to do with you people?”
“I will speak to the councils for you—”
“Fuck you, Grandpa.” Out I went.
“Stop.” He paced me in the corridor. “You would not journey here simply to relate what you could have
by transmission.” I glanced sideways at him, and he lifted his head to look down his high-bridged nose at
me. “You are Terran; you want something.”
Didn’t he know when to quit? “You’re right. I could have signaled. I did want something.” A little
payback was in order. “I wanted to see your face when I told you.”
“That makes no sense.” He got in front of me, and I stopped. “What were Kalea’s instructions to you?”
“She didn’t have time to instruct me. She was too busy hiding for the last twenty-five years.” He didn’t
blink, and I felt my beast twist inside me. “Do you know how she had to live on Terra? Underground, in
caves and tunnels, like an animal? Do you know how much and how long she suffered, just to protect
and provide for me?”
“It was none of my doing.” He made another gesture of acceptance. “Kalea chose her path—and
yours—before you were born.”
“You think my mother chose to live in fear and die in agony? I don’t think so,” I said, snarling. “You
drove her away because she was pregnant with me. You turned your back on your own kin when she
needed you the most. Why don’t you announce that at the big party tonight, you snotty son of a bitch?” I
pushed past him and stalked out to the front of the building.
Enale was waiting for me by the main pavilion entrance. She tried not to look too curious. And failed.
“Jory? May I escort you to a guest room?”
Skalea’s voice cracked across the room like a slap. “Stay away from this Terran, Enale.”
“I might be contagious,” I said, to see her jump.
To me he said, “Take the transport, Sajora. It is yours for the duration of your stay, as long as you agree
not to return here again.”
I studied the transport. It would be handy. “Wild t’lerue couldn’t drag me back.”
“Sajora?” Enale looked at me, then her ClanFather. “I do not understand. That is a Raska name.”
“Not anymore, Auntie.” I climbed in the transport, slammed on the ignition, and took off.
Three weeks later I found the last of the others, living in unacknowledged exile from his own HouseClan.
The various ClanFests celebrating Namadar provided excellent cover for me, which I had needed, for
I’d swiftly worn out my welcome on Joren. HouseClan Torin, who were throwing yet another party,
seemed like a loud, happy bunch. They had plenty of food, floral wine, and performers all around the
ceremonial grounds, putting on song-plays and reciting Tarek. The only spot of calm was the ClanSpar
quadrilateral on the east perimeter.
No one went near it.
That’s where I found the guy I was looking for. Jakol Varena. The male with the reputation of being the
biggest badass in the province, and the only guy on Joren who looked like me, thanks to his half-Terran
DNA. He was also the final name on Mom’s list.
I used the crowd as much as possible as I approached him, until it thinned out to nothing. The best way
would be to come up on his back, get close so I wouldn’t have to broadcast my request. A couple of
HouseClans, including my mother’s, were rumored to be discreetly looking for me, and I had no desire to
end up cooling my heels in the Torin’s detainment center.
Jakol paced around the five-meter patch of ground, his body close to the ryata roping off the four-sided
sparring zone. He reminded me of a Terran tiger in a cage, restlessly looking for a way out. Sneaking up
on a defensive liner after third sphere would have been easier.
Turned out it didn’t matter. Once I got within a foot of him, I realized he wasn’t looking at anything but his
own oversize feet.
And damn, he was big. A foot taller than me, and easily twice my weight. On top of that, the guy was
paved in deeply tanned Terran Caucasian skin, plenty of glistening, sweaty muscle, and attitude. I
couldn’t smell him, though, so he must have had the same odorless sweat as me. He wore a pair of
trousers but nothing above the waist, as if he wanted to flaunt his alien hide. Dead-straight black hair
streamed over his shoulders and halfway down his broad back. He might have passed for a Jorenian, if
not for the skin and his five-fingered hands. From what I could see of his face, he wasn’t in a very good
mood.
That would work. Neither was I.
“Jakol Varena.”
He didn’t raise his head, miss a step, or otherwise indicate he’d heard me. Blasted Jorenian restraint. I
needed to get this wrapped up. The dancer’s ship hadn’t waited around, and the trader I’d hired to
transport me—a nasty piece of work named Uzlac—wouldn’t stay in dock forever, no matter how many
credits I waved under his fat olfactory organ.
Why had I promised Mom I’d do this? It was stupid. But I tried again. “Hey. Champ. Got a minute?”
Still no reaction. Not even a twitch of those thick, smooth brows.
I knew he wasn’t deaf. Maybe a visual would help. I walked around until I caught up, paced him, and
pulled the hood of my cloak away from my face. “Yo. Over here, big guy.”
Jakol’s eyes never left the shorn yiborra grass under his footgear, but one of his five-fingered hands made
a moderately rude gesture. Mom used to do the same thing when I was a kid and bugged her too much
about going topside.
Reality check time. “Looks like no one wants to spar with you, pal.”
It was pretty pathetic, him hanging around, waiting for one of the Tor in warriors to step over the ryata.
None of them evidently wanted to. Except me, naturally, but I had to avoid that.
Or not. “Did you hear me? You’re wasting your time.”
A low, rough growl left his throat. It sounded something like, “Leave me alone, Terran.”
I’d figured on tangling with someone before I left Joren. After three weeks of being politely but
repeatedly slammed by the HouseClans, it might as well be the biggest, meanest guy on the planet. I
shrugged off my jacket, eased my feet out of my boots, and vaulted over the ryata, landing just in back of
him.
That got his attention.
He swung around and took my first punch on the chin. Solid white eyes rounded as he stumbled back
against the quad ropes. Which, if we’d been actively sparring, would have cost him the match.
&n
bsp; “Hi there.” I waved. “Can we talk?”
He still hadn’t quite recovered. “Mother of All Houses. Are you deranged?”
“Maybe.” I spat on the grass stubble between us in time-honored Terran fashion. “Come and find out.”
He glared at me and I got another curt gesture. Go away.
Mr. Gregarious thought he was going to dismiss me, just like my grandfather and nearly everyone else on
this stupid planet had done. I could see I needed a friendly way to get things going. Jumping in the ring
hadn’t worked. Neither had insults, the love tap, or spitting.
So I balled up my fist, pretended he was Uzlac, and punched him again, this time in the belly. He didn’t
bend over, didn’t whoosh, didn’t even blink.
“You’re in nice shape.” I restrained the urge to rub my throbbing knuckles. “You would have made a hell
of a front man for me back on Terra.”
“You struck me twice,” he said, his gaze going from his abdomen to my face.
“And you can count, too.” I darted to one side, gauged the distance between us, then kicked him in the
back of the thigh.
That hurt my foot, not him.
It was risky doing this without the standard presparring agreement. If there were any Varena hanging
around, I might soon be wearing my intestines for garters. Jorenians did not like it when you messed with
their family members. Even the unwanted ones. As I had learned over the last couple of weeks.
“I shield you, Terran.” He turned his back on me. “Leave the quad.”
I let my temper go. “What are you, afraid to hit a girl?”
“No.” He swiveled, gave me a singularly intense look; then at last he started moving toward me. “I have
hit many… girls.”
Oops. I’d forgotten there was no gender discrimination in the warrior’s quad on this world.
“That’s more like it.” I circled backward in front of him. “So, as I was saying, I need to talk to you.”
“You choose an odd manner of conversation.” He lunged, and I barely got out of the way. “You are very
quick.”
“Yeah, I am.” My knee twinged, and I wondered if I was pushing it. I hadn’t had any problems since ‘Gill
left the Terran trader, but his warnings still echoed in my head. “Try and catch me, big fella.”
We danced around the confines of the ryata like that for a few minutes. I caught him twice, solid punches,
once to the throat, another against the ear. He got hold of my tunic once, but hesitated, and I twisted out
of his grip. The ripping sound aggravated me even more. I’d just bought the damn thing yesterday, and it
wasn’t like I was rolling in credits.
Finally my knee started to ache, and I decided it was time to end it. In good runback fashion I doubled
over, rolled off my palms, and came up in time to land both feet in the center of his chest.
Unused to shockball tactics, Jakol lost his balance and went down on his knees.
This was my chance. With a sphere-down shout, I jumped on his back, wrapped my legs around his
abdomen, and used the momentum to force him down on his side.
Now what did I have to do to finish it? Oh, right.
I shoved him over on his back, and smacked the center of his chest with my palm. “You’ve lost.”
A couple of Torin watching from a polite distance chuckled.
Those narrow white eyes stared up at me for a long moment. “So I have, Terran.”
Jakol’s claws emerged as he thrust me up and off him. They were a sure sign he was even more annoyed
with me than he’d been before. Yet he didn’t leave a scratch on me. I watched as he rose to his feet.
I held out a hand. “Now can we shake hands and talk?”
He gave me another irate look, made a short bow, and went back to soundlessly pacing the length of the
quad.
I stayed where I was. “Jakol. Do I look like I normally go around challenging guys as big as you? Do
the math.”
He stopped, thought about it, then swiveled around and took my hand. “Why must I shake your hand?”
“It’s a Terran thing.” Since his claws had retracted, I shook his. His palm felt warm and callused. Manual
labor, I guessed. They’d stuck him out in a field somewhere, probably thinking that would keep him tame.
The morons. “See? No harm done.”
“That is a matter of opinion.” He released my fingers.
I straightened my garments. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”
He wasn’t sold on the idea. I could tell from the way he stood there scowling, big arms folded over his
chest. “Why must I walk with you, Terran?”
Because I have to destroy your illusions. Then I can leave this planet and never have to see
another blue face again. Except in my dreams.
“I’m not Terran. Not all the way.” I stripped off one of my gloves and flashed some claw. It wasn’t hard; I
was pretty annoyed myself. “Mom was a local girl.”
Regardless of my shocking little revelation, Jakol took his sweet time answering. “Very well.”
We jumped over the ryata barrier and pulled on our outerwear. Jakol watched me the entire time, and
when I was done he said, “I would know your House.”
Here we go, I thought as I pulled on my gloves, then shrugged my pack onto my shoulders. “No House.
My mother—”
“Your ClanMother.”
They made such a big deal about what you called them. “My mother was kicked off this world before I
was born.”
He started to say something about that, then peered at my face. “What is wrong with your eyes?”
I took off my shades.
They weren’t all that different from the Jorenian all-white version. Except mine were solid green—no
discernible pupil, no iris, no white cornea—just green.
Jakol simply stared for a while. Then he tried to be polite. “You must be greatly admired among your
HouseClan.”
“Like I said, pal”—I slid my shades back on—“no House.”
“Do not be pathless.” He sounded like he was repeating some adult’s favorite reprimand. “You said your
ClanMother was Jorenian. All Joren belongs to its Houses.”
“HouseClan Raska repudiated my mother twenty-five revolutions past, when she was pregnant with me. I
was born outside bond. Now do you understand?” We were starting to attract some attention from a
group of kids drawn by the activity. “Look, let’s get out of here.” He didn’t budge. “I want you to meet
the others.”
“What say you? What others?”
“The others like us.”
“There is no one like us.” Jakol said it with complete certainty. So he’d already checked the census
database, like I had, and discovered he was the only living half-Terran. I wasn’t on it because I’d been
born during Mom’s jaunt to Terra.
“You can see for yourself,” I said. “They’re waiting to meet you. Unless you’re afraid to find out you’re
wrong?”
A Jorenian warrior didn’t retreat from any kind of challenge. Since Jakol wanted to be one, he adhered
to their dumb rules.
“Very well.” He turned and eyed me again. “I would have your birth name, ClanDaughter Raska.”
Skalea had made it very clear I was no daughter of his House, but I stowed the explanations. “Sajora.
Everyone calls me Jory.” I awkwardly made the gesture adults of different Houses meeting each other for
the first time used. Should have spent more time studying this hand business, I thought, then repeated
/> the ritual greeting Mom had taught me. “I intend no harm to your kin, warrior.”
It was the most respectful form of greeting I could have offered him. I caught a momentary flash of
pleasure in his white eyes before he made the corresponding gesture. “No harm to my kin is anticipated,
lady.”
Poor Jakol. I was no lady. And harm would be the least of his worries after my little chat.
CHAPTER SIX
“Seek the direction or another will take you.”
—Tarek Varena, ClanJoren
As I led Jakol Varena away from the quadrilateral, I noticed how he kept scanning the crowd. I didn’t
know how anyone ever recognized anyone on this world—everyone was big, and had black hair and
blue skin.
Then I thought of the five others waiting for us. Well, almost everyone.
