Contact Imminent (20 page)

The action shook Elon from her violent reverie. She stepped forward. “Ghos. Do not waste your honor on such as that. His blood offers nothing but chaos.”

Ghos kept moving, foot crossing sideways over foot, a half step ahead of Dathim. “Then I will offer his blood to Caith, and beg her blessing.” He dodged in, out, then in again, leaving Dathim still a half step behind. Then his fist shot out. The strike of a beast.

Pascal raised his open palm and met the blow. The crack of flesh and bone against flesh and bone sounded. Another strike. Another defense. Pascal darted away from Dathim so that he could move freely, took his place in the center of the floor. Ghos followed, and the two of them continued to punch one another, landing blows on torsos, shoulders, and arms. The godly moves of the circle of challenge, the only thing missing the blades.

“Ghos!”
Tsecha closed in on the male from behind, and barely dodged an elbow in the pit of his soul. “Lucien! Stand behind Dathim. Do so now. End this!”

“There is no end to such as this without blood,” Ghos said as he struck Pascal's chest and pushed him back.

Dathim closed in, back bowed. “Do you declare, then?”
He closed his hand around Ghos's wrist, stopping him in mid-strike. “Do you declare!” He shook him as a youngish, back and forth, as though he scolded him, his
à lérine
scars flashing pale in the light.

“Dathim! Silence!” Tsecha pushed himself between Ghos and his suborn and grabbed their hands, struggled to pry his suborn's hand from Ghos's wrist. “You have let your anger take you before, and this is not the time for such! Challenge for yourself, if you must, not for Lucien!”

Pascal breathed heavily, sweat coating his face. He straightened slowly, his fists still raised, ready to block Ghos if he struck again. “Dathim, back down.”

Dathim turned on him, shoulders rounding. “Ghos has declared against you in every way but the last. You cannot walk away!”

Pascal lowered his fists. “Yes, I can.”

“Then.” Dathim released Ghos's wrist and backed away. “
Humanish
, who only pretends to learn.”

“Ghos.” Elon struggled to control her shaking voice. Old scars ached in memory. She longed for the finality of the circle, wished every humanish could leave their blood within its confines, felt her heart pound in response. “Not his blood.”
Yes, his blood
, her soul told her, and she closed her mind to its pleas. “It is not godly.”

“How godly are the damned?” Ghos flexed his hands, massaged his knuckles, looked toward Tsecha, then away. “I declare.”

Pascal looked to Dathim; after a time, Dathim looked to him as well.

In the eye
. Elon watched them, uncomprehending.
Most strange
.

Pascal pulled his sweat-darkened shirt from his body. “What do I say?” he asked in English

Dathim responded in English as well. “You say, I accept challenge.”

Pascal nodded once. “I accept…challenge.”

Tsecha pressed a hand to his forehead, a humanish ges
ture that at times denoted pain.
“Dathim.”
He looked to Pascal, then away.

“I don't believe we have a procedure in place for this back at Sheridan.” Pascal's voice emerged as dead. “Who contacts who?”

“You are the challenged. Therefore your dominant must contact Ambassador Shai.” Tsecha spoke in his English, broad, flat sounds that did not seem to emanate from an idomeni mouth.

“There are—” Pascal paced a tight circle. “There are Service rules prohibiting duels. They're old, and haven't been enforced for a long time, but—” He emitted a harsh sound. “I can think of a few people who might want to try and dust them off.”

Tsecha raised a hand, then dropped it, a gesture that for humanish may have meant something but for Vynshàrau meant nothing. “So, it is done.” He ran a finger over one of his many scars, then pushed down his sleeves. “My Jani once fought as you will, Lucien, against nìaRauta Hantìa. I will contact General Burkett, who served as her dominant—he may offer advice to yours. He will be most surprised by this, I am sure.” His posture altered to one of dismay. “My Jani will be, as well. Is she to be told now, or when she returns?”

“She'll read it in the newssheets, I'm guessing.” Pascal looked to Dathim. “I have right of a second.”

“I have acted as such before.” Dathim nodded once, in an aggravating humanish manner. “I will train you as I trained ná Kièrshia.”

“Thus and so.” Tsecha pointed toward the entry, then stood most still as Pascal and Dathim walked ahead of him. “Inform Shai, Elon, that if she wishes to berate me, I will not listen.” He took his place behind his strange suborn pair and followed them out of the veranda, his step most heavy.

Elon walked to a stone bench set in the veranda wall and sat. “Why, Ghos?”

“Because Pascal is anathema, and he who was Avrèl nìRau Nema brought him here to help us.” Ghos seemed
most as relaxed now, his shoulders straight, his hands un-clenched. “Because it is most fitting for a humanish to bleed here, in this soulless place. Because a cleansing rage is required to burn the cold dead from this place.”

“Your hatred is indeed so strong?”

“Yes, nìaRauta. Did you doubt such?”

Elon crossed her right arm over her chest, gripping her left shoulder as hard as she could with her right hand. “I asked ní Tsecha to return to Shèrá, to take the Haárin back into the worldskein with him. To end his damned prophecy.”

“Did you truly expect him to agree to such?” Ghos walked to the bench and sat beside her. “Such would be as Dathim rejecting challenge. An inconceivable thing, and truly.” He reached for the pouch of pattern stones that always hung from his belt and removed it.

Elon watched him shake the colored ovals onto the bench between them. “Will you kill Pascal, Ghos of the Stones?”

“If I am able,” Ghos replied as he worked the lines.

John steered the skimmer up the narrow two-lane skimway, slowing briefly as one of the momentary pockets of congestion that passed for the Karistos morning rush closed in around them. “Nervous?”

Jani finished smoothing her overrobe, then folded it in her lap and sat back to play passenger for the last few minutes of the drive. “Yes and no. I know Feyó. I like her. I think she likes me.” She looked out the window and watched the copper dome of the Haárin Trade Board loom ever larger, its polished roundness at odds with the multistory white and sand blocks that surrounded it. “It's all those nasty unknowns that have me jumpy. How much does she really fear Gisa? How do the Elyan Haárin consider the hybrids? As a curiosity? A threat? Will my presence as a substitute Tsecha help or harm matters?” She stretched a section of overrobe sleeve across her hand and tried to rub out yet another grimy souvenir of her Thalassan rock-climbing exhibition. “I'm not sure nervous is the right word.”

“Terrified?” John grinned, his expression made riveting by the black sunshades he'd donned to shield his eyes from the morning dazzle. With the purple daysuit and his blanched skin and white hair, the overall effect was less that
of a vampire than Death-takes-a-spin-around-town. “Do you want us to wait?”

Jani shook her head. “You don't have to.”

“We'll wait,” Niall announced from the rear seat. “I have nothing planned for this morning except to make sure you get to Fort Karistos after we finish here. You, Shroud?”

John's smile wavered. “I wanted to return to the hospital. Drop in on a few folks. See if a personal appearance could jog anyone's memory concerning Eamon.” He raised his sunshades, regarding Jani with eyes filmed the same too-dark purple as his suit. “Hence the ensemble. Something about me looking funereal inspires truth-telling in the more impressionable.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Jani batted her lashes at him, and they fought a skirmish of weird-eyed stares until a proximity alarm blared, forcing John to steer the skimmer back in their lane and focus on his driving.

Jani sneaked a look at Niall, who occupied the rear seat as if it was a couch, his feet up, Karistos
Partisan
in one hand and a smoking nicstick in the other.

“I can stay behind, then,” he said. “Sit vigil in one of these parks.” He set down the sheet and took in the view out his window. “Attractive town. Quite classical.” He grimaced. “Hotter than hell, though.”

John maneuvered the skimmer up to the curb in front of the Trade Board. “I must say, the location of this place surprises me.” He leaned forward to catch a better look at the dome through the windscreen. “It's smack in the middle of town. There are outdoor restaurants right down the street.”

“Look at the front.” Jani pointed to the flat white facade. “No windows. No doors. I'm guessing that the air-handling system filters out all odors, and that any verandas are well sheltered from unseemly views. No Haárin has to tolerate anything they don't feel comfortable with, and the humanish don't have to travel to the enclave for face-to-face meetings.” She gathered her duffel and cracked open her
gullwing. “Thank Feyó. She opened up the Board to humanish members, making it easier for them to deal with Haárin, which in turn demystified both sides. Some didn't like it, but most saw the advantages. So far, it's working.” She pushed out the door, then swung her legs out of the cabin. “Well, wish me luck.” She started to boost to her feet, then stopped when she felt the warm press of a hand on her shoulder.

“Luck.” John squeezed lightly, then pulled away as though she burned. “When you're finished—”

“I'll be watching for her. I'll call you when she's done.” Niall folded the newssheet and tucked it under his arm, then popped his gullwing and got out.

“Thank you, Colonel,” John muttered under his breath. “If you lure him in front of the skimmer,” he added, leaning close to Jani, “I should be able to at least graze him.”

“I don't know—he's pretty fast.” Jani straightened the straps of her duffel, conscious to the point of fixation of the memory of John's touch. “I don't blame him for being angry. He'll cool off eventually, I hope. The problem is that in the meantime, he's not going to let me out of his sight.” She took a deep, bracing breath—the aroma of grilling meat mingled with the heavy sweetness of flowers and the tangy undercurrent of skimmer battery hyperacid. “Ah well. Onward.” She got out, closed the door, and joined Niall, who paced the sidewalk.

“So how do you get in?” He took the half-spent 'stick from his mouth and used it as a pointer. “There's a walkway there.” He indicated a pavered path that ran from the sidewalk around the right side of the building.

“That's probably it.” Jani dropped her duffel between her feet and pulled on her overrobe. “You could come with me if you wish. Feyó knows you now. I'm sure she wouldn't mind.” She glanced back at the traffic in time to see John's skimmer fade around the corner. “You'd have to lose the 'stick, though.”

“It's all right. You'd just slip into Sìah Haárin, and leave me behind for lost.” Niall looked across the street. “There's a park.” He waved his newssheet toward a flower-packed square of green set with benches and tables. “If I get too hot, I'll dive into one of the shops.”

“Your choice.” Jani hoisted her duffel and headed for the walkway. “See you later.”

“Luck.”

Jani stopped, then looked back to find Niall regarding her, eyes narrowed by the sun's glare.

“I didn't specify good or bad, mind. We'll let fate decide that.” He'd only stood outside for a few minutes, yet the sweat already dotted the front of his desertweight shirt. “I'll be on the lookout for you.” The subtle threat of his words hung between them until he broke away, dodging a sudden flurry of skimmers in his dash across the street.

 

The Trade Board didn't have a lobby, per se. No reception area, no nests of chairs and tables set aside for shooting the breeze. Just a vast open space with a bare tiled floor and plain walls in shades of stone and sand that curved upward to form an arched ceiling, the only decoration a Sìah-style chandelier that resembled a jumble of blades. At the far end, a triple-width door of hammered copper marked the entry to the meeting rooms.

Jani set out toward the doors, her boots sounding muffled echoes. As she drew close, one copper panel swept open. Four Haárin emerged—Feyó, another female, and two males—all attired in shirts, trousers, and overrobes, their hair arranged in the breeder's braided fringe. Jani noted the jewel colors of Pathen on the males, while Feyó and the other female wore the more somber earth shades of Sìah. Feyó stood rearmost, which was to be expected since she possessed the greatest status and wielded the most power.

“Glories of the day to you, ná Kièrshia.” Feyó spoke Vyn
shàrau Haárin in deference to Jani, and through her to Tsecha.

“To you as well, ná Feyó.” Jani took in the grey gaze, sharp yet fatigued, that seemed drawn to the red-slashed sleeves of her overrobe.

“Your arrival at Elyas Station was, according to your Colonel Pierce, most as an incident. My apologies.”

“You would have been unable to prevent it, I most fear. Some of the hybrids worked at the station. It was what we call in Chicago ‘an inside job.'”

“Ah.” Feyó cocked her head. “So you have borne witness to Thalassa, ná Kièrshia. You have seen those who live there, who call you ‘the first.' You will inform ní Tsecha, of that I am most sure. His dream realized.” She raised her cupped right hand in a gesture just short of supplication. “What say you?”

Jani remained silent as the realization of exactly what Feyó feared struck her.
She's afraid of Tsecha. She's afraid of me
. She glanced at the other Haárin, whose expressions and postures held more obvious discomfort.
They all are. They think I'll support Gisa because she's a hybrid, that Tsecha will do the same
. She struggled to quench the anger that flared like flame. Did they think her so simple that she would disregard the stability of an entire network of worlds for such a reason? Did they believe Tsecha, who had survived war, house arrests, and life on the bleeding edge of his stratified culture, would do the same? She stood in place, her face averted, and inhaled deeply and slowly of air that smelled as nothing at all. “It was only by luck that I learned of the existence of a hybrid before I departed Chicago, and even that was not a definite thing. It would have proved most helpful to have been apprised of Thalassa, the fact of which you have known for a very long time.”

Feyó drew up straight. “Ní Tsecha will be displeased,” she said, her voice pitched high in entreaty.

“He esteems you and values your advice. First with the
synthetic foods, then with this, you have led him wrong.” Jani struggled with an ire made more profound by the fact that she liked Feyó, and thought she knew her. “Do you comprehend in any way the risks to which you expose him when you do so?”

Feyó's shoulders rounded as anger threatened to supplant any sense of remorse. “I comprehend much that you do not, nà Kièrshia.”

She turned and walked through the copper door, and gestured for Jani to follow.

 

“Ná Gisa had served as suborn to me since her outcast. She had once functioned as a Temple acolyte in the Síah dominant city of Ràlun, and was made Haárin for defending ní Tsecha's prophecies. This was soon after the war of Vynshàrau ascension. Not a wise time to speak of blending.” Feyó led Jani to a pair of chairs situated near a window. “From the beginning, she behaved most as difficult, but such is the way of Haárin. And she served the enclave well. She was trained as an agronomist, as was I. Much of our work in synthetic foodstuffs may be credited to her, and truly.” She sat, then arranged the drape of the cuffs and hem of her off-white overrobe. “But when ní Tsecha became ambassador, she grew even more as difficult. The time had come, she told me. Soon the blended race would dominate both Commonwealth and worldskein. This is when, I believe, she sought out Doctor DeVries. It took most of a Commonwealth year to build the Thalassan compound. Most of a Commonwealth year until I noticed her change.”

Jani sat in the chair next to Feyó's, then sought to settle her nerves by contemplating the room. The sand-toned walls had been painted with representations of grasses and flowers in the corners and where walls and ceiling met, decorations of pale green and light blue accented with the occasional startling purple or pink. Flowering trees, both carved and real, had been placed in copper planters and set throughout the space, adding to the sense of lightness.

Wish it lightened my mood
. Jani lowered her duffel to the floor, then nudged it beneath her chair with her heel. “What form has Gisa's challenge taken? Does she wish to meet you within the circle?”

“She sent communications to the dominants of the other Outer Circle enclaves, announcing that she declared my leadership unsound, that she is chosen of Tsecha to lead the Elyan Haárin.” Feyó contemplated the view outside the window, a walled garden of native trees and tufts of scrub grass, interspersed with
sanna
, a green and purple striped plant native to the region around Rauta Shèràa. “When one says ‘chosen of Tsecha' to Outer Circle Haárin, it can mean more than a single thing. To the more conservative, it means free trader who wishes to expand business. To the more liberal, it means a free thinker who wishes closer dealing with the humanish, as we have in this place. It has not yet come to mean hybrid to either faction, and that is where it all becomes most as confusing.”

Jani shifted in her seat. The mantle of negotiator had never fit her well, and she could feel its imaginary collar tighten about her throat. “Have you and ná Gisa ever spoken together? Have you sought to discuss your conflict openly?”

“She is not sound.”

“Have you tried?”

“Yes, ná Kièrshia. She will not comprehend sense.”

Jani removed her ring and tilted it back and forth. The red stone caught the light and flashed a crimson needle on the wall opposite her chair—the flicker reminded her of a warning signal. “The other Board members will not put Gisa in your place. With or without ní Tsecha's sanction, the simple fact is that she lacks the standing to replace one such as you. Therefore I believe that we may discard that notion right off the bat.” She ignored Feyó's look of confusion. Maybe the occasional dose of humanish slang would serve to fix the Haárin's attention on her visitor's words instead of her own arguments. “The underlying issue, from what I could gather,
is the status of Thalassa in relation to the enclaves. Could you please clarify your position?”

Feyó remained silent for a time. Then she stood and walked across the room to one of the planters and fussed with an inset illumin attached to the end of a branch. “I offer Thalassa a chance at community, as is necessary for it to function, and to gain esteem from the other Haárin.”

“Ná Gisa stated that you sought to treat it as part of the Elyan enclave, that you demanded allegiance to the dietary laws and acceptance of you as dominant.”

“Gisa exaggerates.”

“Then explain to me what you meant.”

Feyó removed a flickering illumin from its holder and examined it. “An idomeni must belong, to a sect, to a skein. We must know how we stand among all others, at all times. Even we the outcast form our enclaves. Rare is the Haárin who survives as one alone, as you have.” She glanced back at Jani, catching her eye for a bare instant before turning her attention back to the tree. “But just as important as how we see ourselves is how others see us. The Board members are, as you would say, conservative in their attitudes. Some will perceive Thalassa as disordered no matter what I do. But some will be persuaded that it has a place within the skein, and their opinions must be nurtured if we are to prevent the fracturing of Outer Circle alliances that Gisa's actions invite.” She returned the illumin to its holder. It shone more steadily now, the flicker replaced by a faint pulse. “Some Haárin, I most fear, accept ní Tsecha's teachings in the abstract only.”