Pairing with the Protector: A Kindred Tales Novel (Brides of the Kindred)

by Evangeline Anderson

  “Maybe in the information device I saw in the Tuskers’ living area as Whitney and I were being carried down here yesterday,” Rafe suggested. “That was my hope, anyway—if I can learn their written language first.” He looked at Yarrow and Yancy hopefully. “Do either of you know it? I have had an injection of translation bacteria but their symbols seem to defy even their ability to translate.”

  Yarrow shook his head but Yancy nodded.

  “I know it…a little,” she offered hesitantly. “Our family stayed for a while in the walls of a Tusker school where they taught the young Tuskers. I would hide in the corner and watch when I was bored. It’s complicated but I can at least teach you the alphabet and some of the words.”

  “Excellent!” Rafe clapped his hands together. “Let’s get started right away.”

  Yarrow frowned sourly. “I don’t see what good it will do even if you learn enough of the damned Tusker tongue to write a book in it! You’re never getting out of this cage to go up and look at the info-server. And even if you did, if Papa Tusker caught you at it he’d smash you into jelly! He doesn’t like tweedles the way Mama does.”

  “Leave that to me,” Rafe said, frowning. “Whitney and I are getting out of here. When we go, you can come with us or not—it’s your choice. But we are going.”

  “I’ll teach you what little I know,” Yancy said. “And you can use it as you like. Here—the best way to learn is to clear away some of the grass from the floor of your cage. Mama Tusker uses the weeks-end periodical to line our cages and there is often a lot of writing on it. I try to read it sometimes when I get bored.”

  Which must be very often, Whitney thought as she and Rafe started clearing the greenish-purple grass blades away. There was only so much tweedle weed Yancy and Yarrow could sniff if they were being “careful” as they claimed.

  They worked most of the morning, trying to master the Tusker alphabet and Whitney found to her delight that she was able to memorize it with ease, though she had never been very good with languages before. The translation bacteria might not be able to translate the written words directly, but it certainly helped her understand and retain them once she started learning.

  “Now see,” Yancy pointed through the bars to what appeared to be an advertisement printed on the thick bluish paper that lined the bottom of their cage. “That’s an ad for tweedles. Can you make it out?”

  “Young tweedles…of breeding age,” Rafe read haltingly, his brows furrowed as he made out the words. As fast as Whitney had been learning, he was going ten times faster. It must be his natural Kindred ability combined with the translation bacteria, she thought. Kindred were always a whiz with languages—it was in their DNA along with their instinctive knowledge of machinery and their desire to please and protect women.

  “Yes, yes—good!” Yancy said encouragingly. “What else?”

  “Exotic colors…gentle…temperament. Guaranteed no…Speaking Disease.” Rafe finished.

  Whitney stared at the ad and shook her head, horrified.

  “To be bought and sold like that—how awful!”

  “Do you not have a tweedle trade where you live then?” Yancy asked curiously.

  “No,” Whitney said and added reluctantly, “though we used to have something like it.”

  “Do you have Tuskers on your planet too, then?” Yarrow asked, frowning.

  Whitney shook her head. “No, but for a long time in our past, people with lighter skin color used to buy and sell people with my skin color. It was horrible.”

  “I have heard of that shameful part of Earth’s past,” Rafe said soberly. “I am so sorry, Whitney.”

  She shook her head. “It was other humans who did that, not the Kindred.”

  “Of course not!” His brows lowered as he scowled like a thunder cloud. “We would never subjugate another people, especially not on the basis of skin color, which is foolish and prejudiced in the extreme. All sentient species should be free to do as they like as long as they don’t harm anyone.”

  Whitney sighed. “I wish more humans held that point of view. And more Tuskers, for that matter. The idea of buying and selling another sentient species just because they’re smaller than you is awful!”

  “It is reprehensible,” Rafe agreed and pointed at the ad. “Gods—there’s a picture to go with the words, look.”

  Whitney looked at the space he had cleared of grass and winced. There was indeed a picture of two tweedles—one man and one woman, both naked with long hair and large, blank eyes. They looked like the animals the Tuskers believed them to be, Whitney thought. There was nothing remotely human in their vacant expressions—no emotion, just tranquil empty space.

  “They look so…mindless,” she muttered, staring at the ad. “How awful!”

  “They’re probably Mindless Ones,” Yancy said with a shrug. “Most tweedles are, you know. We Thinking Ones are the minority—probably not one in ten of us is able to communicate and think.”

  “Which is more than the Tuskers want,” Yarrow said sourly, frowning. “They’d prefer us all to be mindless—though we’re not much of a threat to them considering the size difference.”

  Whitney remembered that Dood had said something similar and wondered why the Tuskers felt so threatened by tweedles with the “Speaking Disease.” She supposed they wanted to believe themselves the only sentient species on the planet—it probably made them feel unsafe to know that another thinking people, no matter how small—was sharing their world with them.

  “That’s too bad,” she murmured with a sigh. “If only the Tuskers would be willing to recognize the Thinking tweedles as a real people.” Though she supposed it would never happen. After all, look at the history of her own world, Earth, where people had been subjugating and enslaving other humans for centuries, based on looks alone and size wasn’t even a factor, like it was here.

  “They won’t,” Yarrow said shortly. “Are you almost done with the lesson, Yancy? I’m hungry and we haven’t touched our shroom slices yet.”

  They decided to break for an early lunch, going back to the center of their cages. Whitney examined the large, gray, irregularly shaped slices dubiously. It seemed to be made of some light, porous material which felt a lot like memory foam and she doubted it would taste very good. Still, it was what they had been given so she took a bite.

  Sure enough, it was bland with an unpleasant spongy texture that felt wrong in her mouth—like eating carpet lining. She swallowed one mouthful with difficulty and put the slice down.

  “This is disgusting! I’m eating the rest of my alien radish from last night,” she announced. “Doesn’t Mama Tusker ever give her tweedles anything good to eat?”

  “Well, the special food is nice,” Dood remarked from his cage. “Though you might not like the effects.” He had come over to the bars of his cage and was looking across to them. “Saw you talking to Yarrow and Yancy,” he said, tossing his hair in the direction of the other cage opposite his own. “You guys making friends?”

  “They seem like a very nice, er…” Whitney stopped herself from calling them a couple at the last minute. “They seem very nice,” she finished lamely.

  “Yeah, but don’t let ‘em fool you with all that ‘pretend breeding’ stuff,” Dood said contemptuously. “They’re goin’ at it all right, they’re just more careful where Yarrow finishes than they were before Yancy had her litter.”

  “That is enough,” Rafe growled, glaring at the other male. “We do not wish to speak of such things,”

  “What? Yancy and Yarrow going at it or breeding in general?” Dood demanded. “Because you’re going to have to do that eventually, you know—especially if you want to go to the show.”

  “The Tweedle Beautiful show, you mean?” Whitney asked. “When is it, anyway?”

  “Tomorrow, I think.” Dood tossed his hair again. “Mama’s going to pick me to go, I’m sure. I always put on a good performance at the shows. But whether she takes the two of you along as well is comple
tely up to you.”

  “I don’t see how we can influence her decision one way or the other,” Rafe growled. “I thought you said she wouldn’t want to take me because of my scars?” He nodded down at his broad, bare chest with its long, white scars. Whitney still wondered where they had come from, though she didn’t quite dare to ask.

  “Oh, she’ll take you all right—now that she’s determined you two are a matched pair,” Dood said, nodding. “As long as you’re at least acting like your lady is in season. A breeding pair always shows well and Mama loves it because it makes the other tweedle breeders jealous. Also, she gets a lot more interest if it looks like there might be a litter to sell after a month or two.”

  “A month or two?” Whitney demanded. “How long is the gestation period for you tweedles anyway? I mean, how long does a pregnancy last?” she explained, seeing Dood’s confused expression.

  He shrugged. “It depends on the number of babies in a litter. The rule is usually one solar month for every infant. Most tweedles in captivity only have one to three at a time, though I’ve known Mindless Ones to have as many as six out in the wild.”

  This was extremely interesting to Whitney, although she couldn’t imagine having six babies at once. But again, if the infant mortality rate was so high, it made sense that the tweedles would have evolved to have more babies in a shorter gestation time. Though she couldn’t imagine how anyone could take care of so many infants at the same time.

  “Tell me,” she said, thoroughly fascinated now. “How long does it take you tweedles to grow to maturity? Are your babies born being able to crawl or walk right away?”

  “Of course!” Dood exclaimed. “I mean, how else would they stay away from predators? Little tweedles can crawl right away and run before they’re a standard week old. We grow to maturity in about a solar year.”

  “And how long is your life span?” Rafe asked, also apparently interested now.

  “Oh, we’re a very long-lived people,” Dood said proudly. “Our Elders—when they survive—can get to ten solar years. I’m four, myself,” he added proudly.

  Whitney frowned. Was a solar year longer here? Maybe it took their planet a very long time to go around their sun. Or maybe a year here comparable to an Earth year and the tweedles just had very short (by human standards) life spans?

  The second idea seemed more plausible, considering the quick gestation and growth rate. She wished for a moment that she could stay and study the tweedles. Only not as one of them, she thought with a wince. I really don’t want to be trapped here. Oh, please let us get back home!

  It was half thought/half prayer and for a moment she felt a comforting presence around her.

  Do not worry, daughter, a strong, feminine voice murmured in her ear. All will be well.

  Whitney supposed this ought to have startled her but she had been raised in the church all her life and despite her scientific background, she had a strong faith. She felt comforted by the voice, though she wondered if she might have imagined it because of the stress they were under.

  “How long have you been a captive, if you are four now?” she heard Rafe asked Dood.

  “Oh, about two years now.” The tweedle shrugged. “Mama Tusker treats us right. She wasn’t even mad after my escape attempt. I’d still like to get out of here but if I can’t, well…” He shrugged philosophically, as though being kept in captivity for the rest of his life was a nuisance he was willing to put up with.

  “Will you help us escape when we go to the show?” Rafe demanded. “You have been there before—you know more about the security around such events than Whitney and I do.”

  “You mean if you go to the show,” Dood snapped. “And sure, I guess I can try to help you get away, though Mama won’t like it. But I’m not going with you—not in the Tusker city. It’s way too crowded with Tuskers—most of them happy to squash you flat if they see you loose out on the street—to be safe to escape from there.”

  “We will see about that,” Rafe said darkly and Whitney knew he was planning to escape any which way he could, be it from the city or from their cage here in Mama and Papa Tusker’s home.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  They spent the rest of the day perfecting their reading skills, which came quite easily to Rafe, once he had learned the alien alphabet, and talking to Yarrow and Yancy. Whitney, especially, seemed to have taken a liking to the female tweedle. She appeared to feel great sympathy for Yancy, which was nice, Rafe supposed, though he didn’t share the feeling.

  True, these tweedles were confined in cages and bought and sold like animals, which was in itself reprehensible. But they didn’t seem to mind very much, which bothered Rafe even more. How could any people not want to the very fibers of their being to be free? How could they allow themselves to be subjugated so easily?

  Rafe’s warrior’s nature urged him to fight, to get free in any way he could and he couldn’t understand feeling any other way. No matter how difficult things might be in the wild for the tweedles, it was still better than being kept in cages and bred like animals at least to his way of thinking.

  The only break in their day of study was when Zhu-zhu came stumping down the long silver-blue ramp to bring them their supper, which consisted of more of the long green planks and the white and blue disks which Whitney called “alien celery and radishes.”

  All the cage dwellers pretended to be doing mindless activities except for Whitney, who ran eagerly to the front of the cage when the alien child came close to push the huge vegetable material through the bars.

  “What are you doing?” Rafe hissed, following behind her in case he had to yank her out of the way. He didn’t trust the alien child who had caught them in the first place—she was so much bigger than them she could crush Whitney with one careless move of her seven-fingered hand or the probing end of her vast blue trunk.

  But Whitney refused to be deterred.

  “Get back, I know what I’m doing,” she muttered and ran up to the bars just as Zhu-zhu started pushing their dinner through them.

  Whitney stuck out her tongue and made a funny face at the alien child and did a little dance. Zhu-zhu’s eyes got wide and a strange sound, rather like a fog horn, issued from her trunk. After a moment, Rafe realized she was laughing.

  Whitney danced and entertained the child a little more and then began singing in her strong, clear, gorgeous voice.

  Zhu-zhu, who had been laughing and clapping at Whitney’s antics, stood completely still, transfixed. Even thought Whitney was singing in English and there was no way she could understand the words, it was clear she was mesmerized by Whitney’s song.

  “I believe that children are our future,” Whitney sang. “Teach them well and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess inside…”

  The song went on and Rafe found he was transfixed himself. He had always secretly loved Whitney’s voice. In fact, he often waited in the doorway of her lab for several minutes before he entered it, just so he could hear her singing or humming to herself. It was no wonder that the alien child should be fascinated by it as well, he thought, though he wasn’t sure what Whitney was doing or why she was doing it.

  At last the mother alien’s voice could be heard, calling her child to dinner and breaking Whitney’s spell.

  “I have to go now,” Zhu-zhu told her, sounding sorry to leave. “But I’ll come back and play with you later if I can. Would you like some pretty furniture from my doll house to play with while I’m gone?”

  Whitney nodded eagerly and jumped up and down, clapping her hands, though she didn’t say anything. Rafe frowned at this display of sentience—they were going to get into trouble if Whitney wasn’t more careful. But Zhu-zhu seemed to think nothing of it.

  The alien child went across the vast downstairs area to the enormous doll house that occupied her side of the room and grabbed several brightly colored objects. When she brought them back, Rafe saw that one was a kind of sleeping platform complete with a strangely
pattered purple and gold blanket and the other was an enormous doll, a meter longer than he was tall.

  “This is my dolly, Ti-ti,” Zhu-zhu informed Whitney, as she held the doll up to the cage bars. It had blue skin and a trunk and large, flappy ears like a real Tusker, Rafe saw. It was also wearing a faded red dress with enormous gold buttons as big as dinner plates sewn down the front.

  Whitney clapped her hands in apparent delight and pointed at the doll.

  Obligingly, Zhu-zhu poked the doll’s trunk through the bars and Whitney made a big show of stroking it and admiring the red dress and gold buttons.

  “Ti-ti is pretty, isn’t she?” Zhu-zhu said proudly. “She’s my favorite doll.” She sighed deeply. “Though I wish Mama would let me play with you tweedles! You’d look so cute in my doll house!”

  Whitney made a sad face and mimed crying, letting Zhu-zhu know that she felt the same way.

  “Maybe someday,” Zhu-zhu told her. “But for now, play with this! It’s my best doll’s bed,” she added as she opened the cage door carefully and pushed the sleeping platform inside.

  Rafe wanted to take the opportunity to jump out of the cage but the whole maneuver was done with such furtive quickness, he had no chance. It was clear that Zhu-zhu was used to being quick when opening and closing the tweedles’ cages—probably because she wasn’t supposed to be doing it.

  “Zhu-zhu, where are you!” the mother alien’s voice rang out suddenly. “I called you for dinner ten minutes ago!”

  “Coming, Mama!” Zhu-zhu bellowed, nearly deafening Rafe. He put his hands belatedly over his ears as the alien child turned and thundered up the ramp, as loudly as a herd of elephants. Which he supposed made sense, since that animal was what the Tuskers most resembled.

  “What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?” he demanded of Whitney, who was examining the toy sleeping platform Zhu-zhu had shoved into their cage before rushing up the ramp. “Singing to her and playing with her like that! Don’t you think she’s going to suspect us of being sentient now?”