From the corner of his eye he saw the Captain clutch at his head, and collapse with a moan to the slimy pavement. Another mental attack which his shields turned, but they did fuck all against a baton expertly wielded by Sedjur, his old arms master, and as his skull exploded in fragments of light and pain, Tachyon felt a deep sense of hurt and betrayal, and a strong wish that he had had a gun.
"… bring this other one?"
"You said to leave neither witnesses nor bodies." Rabdan's sulky, defensive tones seemed filtered by several miles of cotton wool, and that other voice.. it couldn't be. Tach squeezed his eyes tighter shut, willing the return of unconsciousness, anything but the presence of the Kibr, Benaf'saj.
The old woman sighed. "Very well, perhaps he can serve as a control. Take him to the cabin with the others." Rabdan's footfalls receded, accompanied by a dragging sound.
"The boy did well," Sedjur said, once Rabdan was gone and could not be insulted by his remarks. "His years here have strengthened him. Took out Rabdan."
"Yes, yes. Now go. I must speak with my grandchild." Sedjur's footsteps dwindled, and Tach continued to play possum. His mind lanced out; touched on the presence of the ship, (it was definitely a war vessel of the Courser class), felt the familiar pattern of Takisian minds, the panic of two… no, three human ones. And finally a mind whose touch brought a rush of fear and hate and regret tinged with sadness. His cousin Zabb, becoming aware of the featherlike probe, thrust back, and Tachyon's imperfect shield allowed part of the blow to pass. His headache increased in intensity.
"I know you're conscious," Benaf'saj said conversationally. With a sigh, he opened his eyes, and regarded the chiseled features of his oldest living relative. The opaline luminescence of the ship's walls formed a halo about her silver white hair, and heightened the network of lines that etched her face. But even with these ravages it was possible to see traces of the formidable beauty that had enthralled several generations of men. Legend had it that a member of the Alaa family had risked all to spend one night with her. One wondered if he had found the bliss worth the price, for she had killed him before morning. (Or so the story ran.) A gnarled hand plucked at a wisp of hair that had worked free from the elaborate coiffure, while the faded gray eyes studied him with a coolness bordering on disinterest.
"Will you greet me properly, or have your years on Earth dulled your manners?"
He scrambled up, swept her a bow, and dropped to one knee before her. Her long, dry fingers caged his face, drawing him close, and the withered lips pressed a kiss onto his forehead.
"You weren't always so silent. At home your chattering was held to be a flaw. " He remained quiet, not wanting to lose position by asking the first question. "Sedjur says you've learned to fight. Has Earth also taught you to keep your own counsel?"
"Rabdan tried to kill me."
She was neither disconcerted by the bluntness of the statement, nor insulted by his flat, hostile tone. "Not everyone would welcome your return to Takis."
"And Zabb is on board."
"And from that you may draw your own conclusions."
" I see." He looked away, revulsion lying like a foul taste on the back of his tongue. "I'm not going back, and neither are the humans."
Her thin fingers closed like talons on his chin, and forced him to face her. "You sulky-faced boy. What about your duty and responsibility to the family?"
"And what about my pursuit of virtue?" he countered, throwing up to her the other equally important and utterly contradictory tenet of Takisian life.
"Time has not stood still at home while you have amused yourself on Earth. When you vanished, Shaklan suspected you had followed the ship to Earth."
"But you were not alone in your concern over the great experiment. Others watched, but rather than haring off to prevent the release, they struck at the source. L'gura, that motherless animal, welded a coalition of fifteen other families, and they came." She stared down at her hands, and suddenly she looked very old. "Many died in the attack. But for Zabb I think we all might have died." Tach caught his lower lip between his teeth, holding back the excuses for his absence. "Did you never wonder, as the years passed and still we did not come, what might have happened?"
A cold blade seemed to twist in his belly, and he forced out, "Father?"
"A head injury. The flesh lives, but the mind is gone." Numbness gripped him, and the remainder of her words seemed to come to him from a great distance. "With you gone Zabb agitated for the scepter, but many feared his ambition. In order to block his ascension your uncle Taj maintained a regency, but it was decided that you had to be found, for it is doubtful how much longer Shaklan's body can continue…"
Bitterly cold mornings, and his father pressing a paper cone filled with roasted nuts into his hand while a street vendor bobbed and beamed at the noble ones… Swinging sadly on a door while Shaklan conducted business and forgot that he had promised to teach his small son to ride that day. The meeting ending, and the arms opening wide. Racing into that embrace, feeling safe as those powerful arms closed about him, the tickle of a lace cravat against his cheek, and the warm, man scent, overlaid with the spice of his cologne. . The indescribable pain when his father had shot him through the upper thigh during one of his psi training sessions. Their tears had mingled as Shaklan tried to explain why he had done it. That Tisianne had to be able to withstand anything this side of death without losing mental control. Someday his life might depend upon it… The flicker of firelight on the etched planes of his face as they shared a bottle of wine, and wept, the night they learned of Jadlan's suicide.
Tach covered his face with his hands, and sobbed. Benaf'saj made no move, physical or mental, to ease his anguish, and he hated her. The storm wore itself out, and he mopped at his running eyes and nose with a handkerchief supplied by his many-times great-granddam. Their eyes met, and he saw in them.. pain? He could scarcely credit it, and the moment passed before he could assure himself of the reality of what he had seen.
"We will be under way as soon as we have swept the area for swarmlings. We are not well enough armed to fight off an attack by one of the devourers, and our screens must be dropped before we can enter ghostflight. It is a shame," she continued to muse, "that we were able to save so few specimens. It is likely the T'zan-d'ran will destroy this world." His head moved in quick negation. "You disagree?"
"I think the humans might surprise you."
"I doubt it. But at least we have gathered our data." She pinned him with a cold, gray eye. "You will, of course, have the run of the ship; but, please, do not approach the humans."
"It will only agitate them, and make it harder for them to adjust to their new lives."
She gave a telepathic summons, and a slender woman entered the room. Tach realized, with a start, that the last time he had seen her she had been a roly-poly five-year-old, nursing a fine family of dolls, and making him promise to marry her when she grew up so they could have pretty babies. She would never marry now. The fact that she was on this ship, and not safely ensconced in the women's quarters, meant that she was bitshuf'di, one of the neutered ones who had been deemed to carry dangerous recessives, or to be -of insufficient genetic worth to be permitted to breed.