by C. Gockel
Erelah gave a strange, nervous giggle. Even someone as well-educated and savvy as Adan Titus was convinced by these rumors. Ridiculous. If she were to believe such stories, she might as well find a more imaginative one. Perhaps Tristic ate people as well, like Sceelo, the great dragon of myth.
“The Defensor will see you, Lady Veradin.”
She knew that voice and cringed internally as she turned. Lieutenant Maynard had crept into the room behind her. His hands were folded behind his back as he stood over the Ravstar emblem set into the high gloss of the floor.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Erelah kept her expression blank, hiding her revulsion.
He nodded to her slightly, respect absent. She received the distinct impression he was very aware of the image he presented in his prissy special ops uniform that she secretly detested. Certainly, he reveled in his role as the Defensor’s new second. No one had dared to speculate on what had become of the former aide.
Since Maynard’s assignment to the installation, Erelah had interacted with him only twice before. There was something that struck her as simply off about him. Perhaps it was the way he watched everything with his dark little eyes, or his constant smoothing of his own uniform as if to call attention to his special rank.
On their second encounter, he had cornered her in the officer’s lounge, being so bold as to invite her to share down time in one of those disgusting chambers they called rec suites. Erelah had burst into laughter. At the time she had honestly thought he was joking. This odd little man was asking her to…
She smirked. Maynard’s expression soured, seeming to guess the course of her thoughts. For the moment her anxiety was forgotten as she followed him into the adjoining chamber where Tristic waited.
Chapter Eleven
Defensor Tristic waited at the farthest end of the suite, propped in a plush chair on a raised dais. The lights were dim. Erelah could discern only a misshapen form with a stooped back and sinewy arms. A medical attendant hovered obediently nearby until Tristic dismissed him with a flick of her gloved hand. Erelah felt her dread thicken.
“Consultant Veradin, I trust you were not waiting long.” The words were spoken in High Eugenes, but the voice that carried them had a peculiar reverberation to it, almost mechanical.
The diction and accent were nearly perfect. Except for the silly game she had played with Adan, Erelah rarely heard High Eugenes spoken among the personnel of the NeuTech installation. She most certainly did not expect to hear it now, in this time or place.
“Defensor Tristic.” She nodded stiffly, secretly grateful for the move to High Eugenes. It was the only language she had spoken most of her life. Commonspeak was used for interacting with servants and common Citizens. Even terse Regimental still proved difficult for her at times. “I was not waiting long.”
“You are a horrid liar, Veradin.” Tristic uttered a strange grinding sound. Erelah realized it was a laugh.
The Defensor made another gesture, summoning Maynard to her elbow. They conspired in a secret conference. The lieutenant peered at Erelah as he listened to his superior. That same dread seemed to harden in her stomach. She watched as Maynard, almost tenderly, helped the Defensor step down off the dais.
“Leave us, Lieutenant.” Tristic gave a regal wave of her gloved hand, her full attention on Erelah.
She thinks herself queen here. The outcast aberration was granting an audience to a member of the Kindred. Tristic enjoyed this, Erelah realized.
“Yes, Defensor.” Maynard nodded, faltering slightly. An almost disappointed expression flit over the aide’s face. His dark eyes fell over Erelah as he clipped past her.
The doors shut, echoing in the vast chamber. She was alone with the queen of a strange dominion.
This was a mistake. I should have listened to Adan.
Erelah felt cold, uncertain, but she tried her best to stave off the spreading apprehension. Clasping her hands at her waist, she drew her shoulders back. Old Sissa would have been pleased.
You are a Daughter of the Veradin Kindred. Act like it.
Although her earlier anger from seeing the lab pulled apart had evaporated, she tried to draw fuel from that pride.
“I owe you congratulations on your recent success on the j-drive project. What is it you titled it…Jocosta , I believe? It is a stunning achievement for your team,” Tristic purred as she moved with sure, firm steps into a circle of light cast by one of the room’s few glow spheres. Erelah could not help but stare at what that light revealed.
Miri was blind to permit such a monstrosity.
Tristic was as hideous as the rumors described. Her features most definitely spoke of a Sceeloid heritage: the pale, nearly translucent skin covered in a layer of fine scales, pointed angular features, blue-tinted lips on a mouth like a gash. But the eyes. The eyes were incongruous in that face. They were a dark, somber brown, suggesting the purest of Eugenes bloodlines.
As a child, Erelah would have given anything for eyes that color.
Perhaps that is what made her stare the most. It was the summation of this the hybrid’s strangeness.
“Yes, Project Jocosta . Thank you…Defensor,” she stumbled, realizing she had not yet replied and had simply been staring. She was uncertain of the protocol in addressing Tristic. Old Sissa had never mentioned grotesque hybrids in her lessons on manners.
“Hideous, am I not, Consultant Veradin?” Tristic asked. That odd mechanical buzz followed. An errant shaft of light picked out the cause. Embedded in the skin in Tristic’s throat was a small piece of tech, resembling a vox. It was the source of the noise. Speech augmentation, Erelah realized with a shudder.
“No matter,” Tristic offered. “Over the years I have grown used to such…reception.”
“Apolo…apologies, Defensor,” Erelah stammered. Mouth gone dry, she tried to swallow.
She could no longer fathom why it seemed so important to have demanded this interview. Her nerve had long fled, and her next words seemed to come from someone else.
“The j-drive may seem successful, but I come to ask why you have taken the project from my team? There is still much to prove before the vessel is worthy. For instance, there is the destabilization of the subspace field. At too close to a larger vessel’s velo engines, the j-drive can cause a catastrophic failure in—”
“I’m aware. I’m aware,” Tristic replied, her voice seemingly distracted. She stepped closer. Erelah became aware of a strange odor: a nearly sweet-smelling stench. The smell of water jasmine and rot.
“Tell me. How is it that you do not prefer to employ your hereditary title of Lady Veradin? It sounds far more elegant.”
She paused, trying to guess the wayward pattern of this conversation.
“In honesty, Defensor, it’s just a title. The equivalent should have belonged to my brother, Jonvenlish, as he’s elder. I would be happier if that were the case.” Unbidden, Erelah gave a nervous tittering laugh. This was not what she had planned.
How do I take my leave now? I should have never come here.
“Yes. The dashing Captain Jonvenlish Veradin. Quite the specimen of Kindred valor, I understand.” To Erelah, her tone seemed to mock. “Has his own battalion of breeders…forgive me…Volunteers…to command. You must be quite proud. Is he as handsome as you are lovely, Lady Veradin?”
Erelah strained a smile. “You flatter, ma’am.”
“ʽLet us be judged by our actions, not by our titles,’” Tristic said, quoting one of Helio Veradin’s tomes.
Still playing the game, Erelah fell back to the patter of courtly dialogue. “You honor me, Defensor, and his memory, to be a student of Uncle’s writing.”
“Helio Veradin was a principled man during an unprincipled time. Yet there are those who saw him as a traitor for his support of the Human invaders.”
Erelah stiffened but did not reply. This was dangerous ground. To speak in his defense could brand her a traitor, yet she could never dishonor the man who raised her and whom she loved li
ke a father.
Tristic seemed to move with a grace incongruous to her form as she circled closer still. The cloying smell of water jasmine and rot nearly overpowered now.
“You were born to the Veradin Kindred, then?”
“My brother and I were children of Uncle’s servants. He named us as wards and heirs after their deaths.”
Erelah tried not make eye contact. Instead, she focused on the junction of Tristic’s neck and shoulder, the sway of her dark cloak, the glimmer of the Defensor crest affixed to her collar.
“Have you ever encountered a Human, Veradin?”
Tristic stalked in a slow predatory circle around her.
“Ma’am?” She faltered. “No. Never.”
“Vile creatures, really. Substandard, yet almost…endearingly imperfect.” The Defensor muttered distractedly as she paused to activate an interface console. Her attention was fully back on Erelah as she asked, “What do you know of the Human infection of Eugenes space?”
This was beginning to feel like an interrogation.
“As much as any Citizen. It has been nearly thirty years since the Purge.” She turned to follow Tristic as she resumed pacing. “They invaded our territories and conspired with the Sceeloid against us.”
“Rote and memory answer. Like a student’s. That is not the complete truth.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There are those who have suggested that the Humans were the fabled Palari, the lost ancients. After all, it would explain their appearance and their nearly identical physiology to the Eugenes.”
“That is one view.” Be careful, Erelah.
The Defensor dug through already well-trampled soil. Helio Veradin had been vilified over and again for his defense of the alien invaders that breached Eugenes space, calling themselves Human. As much as she loved her uncle and sought to protect his memory, Erelah had no wish to share his fate. The days of the Purge were well gone. The Humans had been erased. Yet this strange creature before her, for some inexplicable reason, appeared driven to revive it all.
“Your sect, the Miri sect, shared this view. And the devout, like your uncle, bore the punishment for their heretical teachings.”
“The Humans are not the Palari,” Erelah said quickly. “The Palari are a thing of myth. The Council of First declared it so.” It was the expected response.
Humans had been in their infancy of interstellar travel when they literally stumbled upon Eugenes territory. They looked like any Eugenes. But they lacked uniformity; they were the embodiment of chaos. It was firmly rooted in their very nature. Every size, every shape, every combination of coloring. They spoke many tongues and carried all manner of gods with them. The beings never had a chance. Uncle had told the story many times, his face etched in sadness in the glow of the hearth. He would often speak of it after their pilgrimages to the decrepit little shrine of Miri that had been erected on Argos ages ago.
The mother of the Palari, Uncle had said. No mother should see her children hunted so…
“Meeting one’s idolized ancestors only to find them inferior would be disappointing, to say the least,” said Tristic. “It was wise of First to recognize the threat that the Humans’ inferior genetics posed. They bred with the wild abandon of parasites, threatening the Eugenes’ careful honing of dynasties through genetic manipulation and selection. They carried the dangerous genes that made their kind susceptible to the influence of the Sceeloid.”
“You speak of sight-jacking?” Erelah replied, her disbelief blossoming.
“You have heard of this ability, then?”
It was a thing of legend, a story Old Sissa would tell to frighten Erelah and Jon as young children. Beware the Sceeloid who can drain the wills of lesser men and misbehaved children. He will make you a slave and command you to do his bidding.
“Yes. But how does—”
“And yet, Helio Veradin risked the power and holdings of his Kindred to defend the Humans, the Palari. For defying First and for speaking against their annihilation, your Kindred suffered, did it not?”
“It did.”
“A pity.” Tristic clucked her tongue. The vox in her neck made it sound like the click of insects. Erelah shuddered.
“Defensor, I apologize for taking your time.” She realized how desperate her voice sounded and didn’t care. Anything to get free. She took a step back, beginning her retreat. “Perhaps we may discuss the Jocosta project later…”
Tristic ignored this. “Did you know I met your uncle once? Well…‘met’ suggests an air of something more…social. More like I was presented . My makers, the genetics masters, splicers, were so proud to show me off. I was the only of my brood to survive, you see.” Tristic’s mouth split into a grin. There was no amusement in her eyes. “So lonely being the last of your kind…is it not?”
“I…uh…imagine so, ma’am.”
“I had proven myself so much more useful than a simple test subject, even then,” Tristic continued. Her gaze seemed to turn inward as her voice softened with reflection. “Your uncle was a towering figure in his prime. You should have seen him, draped in his cloak of office, the crest of his Kindred gleaming. And he looked upon me like some…thing .”
Tristic frowned at Erelah. Her voice pulled into a growl, made more alien by the vox device. “The abject pity on his face.”
“I’m sure he did not mean to insult—”
But Tristic was not listening. Her pacing quickened. “ʻWhat have you done? Destroy this thing . End its suffering. This is an affront to the Three.’ That is what your cherished uncle said of me.”
Her damning gaze turned on Erelah. “Something like that leaves an impression, wouldn’t you agree?”
Erelah chewed her lip. She took another cautious step back.
“But that was not all.” Tristic stopped pacing. Her voice flattened. “By the graces of my Sceeloid heritage, I could read the energies of warm bodied species like the Eugenes…and similar races. Your skin flushes when you lie. Your heart races to betray your secrets even if you remain silent. I could truly see right through him as I do you, Lady Veradin. Your righteous uncle, with all his preaching of mercy and virtue, held secrets of his own. Little did I know one of his secrets would one day grace me with her presence.”
With this Tristic leaned closer, her face mere inches away. She reached out and caressed Erelah’s jaw with a gloved fingertip. “And such a lovely one.”
“Defensor Tristic.” Erelah stepped away and tried her best to force the fear from her voice. “I am sure I do not know what you mean.”
Tristic watched her face, studying. Again, her reply was distracted and offhand. “Ah. You speak the truth. How odd that he never told you. Your uncle knew Humans live among us, masquerading as Eugenes.”
Insanity. Erelah found herself mired in it with no clear means of escape.
“Veradin, you are no more Eugenes than I. You are Human.”
“What?” Erelah choked. “What are you talking about?”
Tristic regarded the interface station once again. The holoweb display coalesced to a new configuration. Erelah recognized her profile.
“Those are my personal records—”
Tristic was deceptively fast and strong as she clutched the front of Erelah’s tunic. Like a doll, she felt her body flung toward the display. Her forehead struck the glass. With her face pressed against the screen, she saw her own profile: Medical history. Genetics.
The Defensor’s voice became a deep wet growl against her neck. “What do you know of your true parents?”
“Please stop! Let me go,” she howled.
“Your parents!” Tristic demanded. Her fingers twisted against Erelah’s neck, sending a cascade of painful needles down both arms.
“Nothing. They were Uncle’s servants. Father had died of hard fever before I was born. Mother was infected even as she bore me.” Her reeling brain floundered.
“Lies! Helio Veradin was a traitor to the Eugenes and a Human sympathizer. He ke
pt you and your brother hidden.”
“Uncle would not lie!”
“I know it is by some accident that you even came to be here. Your uncle forbade military service, did he not?”
This was a mistake. Adan had tried to warn her. Now her pride had driven her directly into the path of madness.
Neither the Regime nor Fleet would for a moment allow a Human to survive in its midst, let alone serve in high-security research. Tristic was clearly paranoid. Erelah had to find a means to reason with a lunatic.
“It would be impossible for a Human to be inducted. The Regime would certainly know.”
“The Regime knows nothing!” Tristic spat, releasing her. “There are tens of thousands of personnel on a single carrier. Dozens of carriers in a single battle group. How could First track them all, know the secrets of them all? That council is populated with complacent fools!”
Tristic spoke outright treason without fear of reprisal. No one knew Erelah was here. Only Adan and Maynard. Surely Adan would say something? Do something, when she did not return soon? But there had been such finality in his voice. The fear in his expression had told a different story. And Maynard was clearly Tristic’s creature.
The Defensor’s attention snapped to the holoweb interface: “Display thermal imaging.”
The visual representation changed. It was Erelah, but not. Her shape was outlined in tremendous pinks and searing white-hot color.
“Like a full-blooded Sceeloid, I glimpse heat and emotion as complex patterns of color. This is what I see when I look upon you, Veradin. This is a Human thermal image. You are not Eugenes. You are inferior. You are Human.”
“No! This is madness!”
“Think! You knew you were different even as a child. You observed other children grow sturdy and tall. How different they were. Granted, it spurred you to greater intellectual accomplishments, perhaps overachieving in time. Always you existed in the protective shadow of your uncle. You and your brother were his damning secret.”
Her brain reeled.
Tristic may command the respect of the Council of First, but she was clearly unstable. Why create this fantasy? Until this encounter, Erelah had been a stranger to her. She was one of many on the NeuTech installation and not worth a second glance. Only her foolish pride had brought her here.
