I stood away from the cabin door and held a hand out toward a built-in seat. I took the one facing it. Once the Drac and I were settled in, I asked in Drac, "Is there a problem, Atu Vi?"
The Drac’s brow rose. "The dining steward said you spoke the language well."
"I had a good teacher, a quiet classroom, and a lot of time to learn."
Second officer Atu Vi studied me for a moment. When it was done, it asked, "Did you learn The Talman, as well?"
"Yes. Why do you ask?"
"I thought you might find some profit in reviewing the Koda Tarmeda. It was interesting meeting you." Atu Vi stood and walked from my cabin, closing the door behind it.
Koda Tarmeda, the Story of Cohneret. This was the Talman master who made a study of what it called the passions and their relationship to talma, paths of problem solving.
Passion is a creature of rules. This does not mean do not love, do not hate. It means that where your passion limits talma, you must step outside of the rules of your love and hate to allow talma to serve you.
What was the point of my outburst in the ship’s lounge, Atu Vi seemed to be asking me. How does getting into a public ass-kicking contest serve talma? And who was the Drac with the big mouth? To score on it had I driven away one who might be convinced to assist me in the achievement of my goals? Had I turned a big-mouthed bigot into an active enemy? In any event, the Drac with the mouth had complained to the captain and the captain’s second officer had dropped on by to tell me, in the most polite manner, to stick a sock in it. Good advice. As more than one Talman jetah has observed, "Knowing talma is not living talma."
As the ship was coming into Draco, I thanked Second Officer Atu Vi for its advice. The Drac studied me for a moment, then said, "Shortly after we land and the passengers disembark, a human will approach you. He is with the USE diplomatic mission and his sole purpose is to intercept you and place you on the first transportation available back to Earth. Avoid this person. There is a considerable weight of Drac authority that will support this diplomat’s efforts to send you off-planet."
I could feel my eyebrows climb. "If I could ask a question, Atu Vi. Just who was it that I insulted?"
"Masru Ahniva, retired first jetah of the Tsien Denvedah. Masru Ahniva now serves as military jetah to the Earth diplomatic mission."
"One more question, Atu Vi. Would talma be served by offering my apology to Masru Ahniva?"
The Drac smiled and answered with a question of its own: "Did Uhe need more sand?"
On Draco I avoided the fellow from the diplomatic mission, although I hated leaving him there at the spaceport knowing that he had blown it. It would be a hot time once he got back to the office. There was ground transportation, and I took a limo bus into Sindievu where I could catch another bus that went by the Jeriba estate. Both bus pilots informed me, as I came on board, that I was required to sit at the front of the bus along with the vemadah, outcasts. Most of the outcasts were vemadah because they had refused to fight in the war. There was a Vikaan and a couple of other races among the passengers, but they sat in the back with the rest of the respectable citizens.
Why the front of the bus, I asked one of the outcasts on the bus I picked up in Sindievu. The vemadah explained and it made perfect sense. The doors are located at the front, making the ride there, to a slight degree, dustier and draftier than the rear. Besides comfort, being in the rear also allows those seated there to keep an eye on the untrustworthy passengers up front. Why the back of the bus was considered second-class at one point in old American history made me wonder at the reasoning of the time. If I ever got back to Earth, I’d have to look into it.
The vemadah nodded toward the next stop, a road that left the main road and lost itself between wooded hills. It said in Drac, "You must get off here and walk that road to your destination. Stand, or the pilot will not stop for you."
I stood, and as the bus slowed I looked at the outcast. "Thank you."
It looked at me. "Do humans have vemadah?"
"Yes. Many different kinds."
"Are you vemadah on Earth?"
I thought on that for a moment, and as the bus hissed to a stop, I said, "I guess I am. You probably wouldn’t be, though."
I climbed down from the bus, the door snapped shut behind me, the vehicle dug out and was gone in a matter of seconds.
The Jeriba estate was set in a deep rugged valley of gray stone cliffs and tall trees. A high stone wall enclosed the property, and from the gate, I could see the huge stone mansion that Jerry had described to me. It was almost a castle I told the Drac guard at the gate that I wanted to see Jeriba Zammis. The guard stared at me like I had just crapped on its shirt, then it went into an alcove behind the gate. In a few moments, another Drac emerged from the mansion and walked quickly across the wide lawn to the gate. It wore an iridescent green robe that flowed like silk. The Drac nodded at the guard, then stopped and faced me. The face looking at mine was a dead ringer for Jerry.
"You are the Irkmaan that asked to see Jeriba Zammis?"
I nodded. "Zammis must have told you about me. I’m Willis Davidge."
The Drac studied me like I was some kind of freak. "I am Estone Nev, Jeriba Shigan’s sibling. My parent, Jeriba Gothig, wishes to see you." The Drac turned abruptly and walked back to the mansion. I followed, feeling heady at the thought of seeing Zammis again. I paid little attention to Estone Nev’s manner or my surroundings until I was ushered into a large room with a vaulted stone ceiling. Jerry had told me that the house was four thousand years old. I believed it. As I entered, another Drac stood and walked over to me. It was old, but I knew who it was. That face had been described to me so many times that it was more familiar to me than my own father’s.
"You are Gothig, Shigan’s parent?'
The yellow eyes studied me. "Who are you, Irkmaan?" It held out a wrinkled, three-fingered hand. "What do you know of Jeriba Zammis, and why do you speak the Drac tongue with the style and accent of my child Shigan? What are you here for?"
"I speak Drac in this manner because that is the way Jeriba Shigan taught me to speak it."
The old Drac cocked its head to one side and narrowed its yellow eyes. "You knew my child? How?"
"Didn’t the survey commission tell you?"
"It was reported to me that my child, Shigan, was killed in the battle of Fyrine IV. That was over six of our years ago. What is your game, Irkmaan?"
I turned from Gothig to Nev. The younger Drac was examining me with the same look of suspicion. I turned back to Gothig. "Shigan wasn’t killed in the battle. We were stranded together on the surface of Fyrine IV and lived there for a year. Shigan died giving birth to Jeriba Zammis. A year later the joint survey commission found us and—"
"Enough! Enough of this, Irkmaan! Are you here for money, to use my influence for trade concessions—what?"
I frowned. "Where is Zammis? I’m here to see Zammis. Where is it?"
Tears of anger came to the old Drac’s eyes. "There is no Zammis, Irkmaan! The Jeriba line ended with the death of Shigan!"
My eyes grew wide as I shook my head. "That’s not true. I know. I took care of Zammis—you heard nothing from the commission?"
"Get to the point of your scheme, Irkmaan. I haven’t all day."