Tethered (3 page)

***

Tyree gazed at her image with a sensation akin to horror. That wasn’t
her.
She’d never looked like this. Like some gloss painted, surgically enhanced Skiv putting herself up for sale.

She touched the elaborate coils of her hair in wonder, watching the alien reflection do the same.

“Is it to your liking, my lady?” Visaya asked, her voice quivering.

“I...I’ve never worn it up like this.” Tyree continued to stare.

“It was how the Lady Mirsee liked it.” The woman’s voice broke, and she sniffed. Tyree turned to look at her, stunned to see tears flowing down the attendant’s face. Was she so offended by Tyree’s reaction?

“I didn’t mean to be rude.” The apology snagged in her throat. It was a first, but in this situation she didn’t want to make too many mistakes around these humans.

“No, lady, it is not that. It is very strange to see another in my lady’s clothes. Someone so alike, and yet you are not her.”

“It freaks you out a bit?” Tyree stared at her reflection again. “Yeah, I can understand that feeling.”

Visaya sobbed harder, and discomfort ran down Tyree’s spine. What was the woman so upset about? Su never cried, and certainly never mourned anyone. Talented Inc-Su could be cloned again, and there were few emotional attachments in Refuge.

“Do you miss Mirsee?”

Visaya wiped her eyes. “She was a great lady. And we grieve for the master’s loss.”

Hmm. The master, huh?

Tyree straightened. It might be his title, but Zander D’joren was no master of hers. Not even if he Tethered her.

“Then perhaps it’s time I met him. I’m sure he’ll want to see how I compare.”

And a visual comparison is all he’ll be making, or I’ll snatch the aura right out of him.

Visaya gestured to the door. “This way, my lady.”

***

Visaya passed her to a majordomo, who gave his name as Pevanne. Despite his wrinkle-etched face and grayed hair, he moved with an ease someone half his age might have envied. Had he been modified? While Inc-Su chose genetic revision to maintain youth and longevity, many humans resorted to pharmaceutical treatments, nanotechnology, and cybernetic enhancements to prolong their useful lives. The concept sickened her. Why accept such alien invasions into your body when it could’ve been prevented at conception?

He led her to an anteroom and then excused himself. The room formed a glass hemisphere overlooking the blue-green sphere of Terris. Sunlight gave the glowing world a brilliant halo that would’ve been blinding without the grayscale filters in the metaglass that dampened the glare. Black and white checked tiles covered the floor, with a single pseudo-marble topped table at the center. Ornate metal gold legs curved out from under the surface like the coiled roots of a petawi tree.

Trepidation strummed along her nerves in a way she hadn’t felt since her first assignment. Sweat dampened her palms, and she tried to wipe them on the formal robe without being seen. The material, in folds of copper satin, refused to accept the moisture and she clenched her hands into fists. How much longer? She didn’t want to wait in this anteroom, in an ornate, full-length dress, and her hair gathered into braids on her head and drawn so tight she felt as if her face had been pulled back several inches into her scalp. Why did they have to go through with this poxy charade? Why couldn’t she and D’joren just go for a capprey together and say hello. It shouldn’t take a whole frigging performance for a single greeting.

Stop fidgeting!
she told herself.

This was more than nerves. Perhaps it was the shielding the council had provided her to protect her from the influx of auras. In Refuge, the Inc-Su lived in harmony with each other—well, relatively speaking—and shielding wasn’t necessary. Out in the field, they could control it for a time, long enough for the job, but it was draining. Having to maintain that shield for the foreseeable future would’ve seriously impaired her ability to function, but the nanotech device seemed to play on her nerves. Like a subliminal buzz at the edge of her mental hearing.

Her fingers drifted to her right collarbone and brushed the slight ridge beneath her skin where the control had been grafted into the bone. As a general rule, Inc-Su shunned any kind of cybernetic enhancements, already being genetically specialized. Most traveling outside Refuge wore a shielding device for convenience, but in her role as Mirsee the device needed to be hidden. Submitting to the insertion of such tech into her own body had been like ingesting a disgusting parasite. Raw.

“My lady?” The majordomo called to her from an open door behind her. In her agitation, she hadn’t even heard him coming. Damn it, what good would she be as protection if she couldn’t keep herself under control? D’joren had her behaving like an untutored newbie.

Her anxiety focused into a fine beam of resentment for her co-delegate. This was all his fault!

She drew herself up, sucked in a long breath, and willed the turmoil in her gut still as she trailed Pevanne into the main room. Calm seeped through her as she let the breath back out in a slow sigh. D’joren was only human, and she was fully-trained Su. She outranked him, and she could kick his co-delegate behind with both hands tied.

A hunched figure, dressed in brown, sat with his broad back toward her, and irritation threatened her newly-reclaimed composure. Damn it, didn’t he know any basic personal safety measures at all? If she’d come as his assassin instead of his co-delegate, he’d have been a dead man already. A thought warmed her. She might be here as his protection, but she could damn well beat some sense into him in the guise of training. The prospect forced a small smile onto her face as she imagined him on his back and at her mercy.

She stalked across the floor, but with her stealth shoes on only the rustling of her robes announced her presence. If D’joren heard her, he made no move or acknowledgement.

She swept around the table, barely allowing the majordomo to voice the invitation to sit before she plumped herself into the chair that faced D’joren. He had his head bowed over a data sheet and his face half-hidden by a fringe of fine, brown hair streaked with gold. His right hand rested against his cheek.

“Master D’joren,” she said briskly. “I am Tyree of the Su.”

His head rose and his eyes met hers. She gasped, and her gaze snatched to the side of his face that he’d kept covered until now. Scars twined across his cheek and threaded into his hair. They had pulled up the corner of his eye—which was clearly cybernetic, judging by the fine silver threads through the white.

“Striking, aren’t they?” he said. His voice reminded her of sweetened capprey: smooth, soothing, and yet with a hint of bitterness at its heart.

She forced herself to meet his gaze squarely, although the heat over her skin told her she was blushing like a scolded youngster. Had he done this deliberately? To test her?

“Very striking,” she said, holding her tone steady. Her pulse raced more ferociously than in the aftermath of euphoria, and she kept her fingers clenched tight. Concentrated her gaze on him, as if assessing a target. A broad, triangular face, but with a strong jawline. A cleft in his chin. Eyes a shade of golden brown she’d never seen before. “Couldn’t regenerative surgery fix—?”

“Oh, it could.” D’joren folded his long fingers together and rested his chin on his clasped hands. The shoulder-length brown hair fell forward, once more partially obscuring the scars on the side of his face. “I doubt many would even notice after the work was done. But I refused it.”

“Why?” She bit her lip as the word escaped. G’vorek called her forthright. Most of her peers went with damn rude.

“Several reasons. For one, I wish the Tier-vane to see what I’ve gone through in order to perpetuate the truce. Their society appreciates such gestures. And, not that I would ever forget, but it reminds me each day why I have to keep going. Why I am here. Someone wanted the truce broken, and I will not permit that no matter what they may try. Lastly...” His voice trailed away, and Tyree saw a shadow of fear darken his expression. He loosed one hand to brush the scars on his cheek. “...but that’s a subject for another day, perhaps.” A smile warmed his face, and Tyree couldn’t hold back an answering grin.

By the Mothers, he was handsome even with those scars. More so perhaps. He’d faced death and survived. She could admire that trait, even in a human.

“Forgive me, but I’m forgetting my manners. Welcome to the
Seclusion
, Tyree of the Su.”

Again, that faint hint of bitterness edged his voice. He’d been here for six months after all, a virtual prisoner. His dark eyes remained fixed on hers, and the intensity of his look unnerved her. Was he comparing her to Mirsee? “Thank you, Master D’joren.”

“Oh, please, you should call me Zander.” A flicker of a smile quirked his mouth. “And from this point on, I will have to remember to call you Mirsee. I’m sorry for the necessity.”

She shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to get used to that.”

“Indeed.”

Was that regret in his voice? She fingered the shielding control at her shoulder again. That was becoming a bad habit, and his gaze noted her gesture. She snatched her hand down and clasped the other lying in her lap.

“How was your journey here?”

“A bit cramped,” Tyree admitted. Thankfully she’d slept through most of it in her self-induced trance.

“My apologies. You’ll find the
Seclusion
more spacious, but probably more restrictive.”

Now that was definitely a complaint, however softly he couched it. “I suppose you’ve gotten to learn the interior of the station quite well.”

“In complete and tedious detail.”

They both laughed, and she felt some of the tension ease. This might be fun after all.

“I can take you on a tour later, if you like,” D’joren offered.

“Is there much worth seeing?”

“Not really, but it’s something to do. Of course, there is a full media suite and an entertainment system should the tour, or my company, grow too dull.”

“I’m sure you’re never dull Master...I mean, Zander.” Tyree shook her head. “Of course your name was in the file, but...”

“I’m sure there were many things in the file.” His wide mouth curved into another smile. “I also had a file on you. I...knew what you would look like, naturally.”

“Am I a good match?”

“Perfect.” He scanned over her face. “I see Visaya has versed you on dressing accurately.”

“She did. It’s an odd thing to have someone fussing over my hair and clothing.”

Like I’m some Skiv for his pleasure...
Tyree quashed the thought.

“I’m sure of that, but it will take some of the pressure to maintain the deception from you by having Visaya at hand.” He stared at her in silence for a moment, and then seemed to shake himself free of whatever was troubling him. “However, I understand you have some concerns over your duties as my co-delegate.”

The smile slipped from her face. “I’m aware that I’m meant to behave exactly as your previous delegate did.”

Was it her imagination or had he flinched? Certainly his smile had faded. “In public, you’ll be required to do so, and it will mean sharing quarters whenever we are away from the base. Rest assured you’ll be sleeping alone in the bed.”

“I’ve slept in worse places.” Tyree bit her tongue at the implication, and Zander raised dark, slim eyebrows in query. “I mean, don’t feel you have to make sacrifices on my behalf. I’m capable of taking my turn on the sofa at least.”

Again, that broad mouth curved into a smile. “Fair enough. We’ll share that duty then.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver box. “I have a gift for you.”

“Oh...” Tyree quietly panicked. Should she have bought him something? Her briefing hadn’t said anything about an exchange of gifts. He opened it, removed something from inside, and then took hold of the fingers of her left hand. Too startled at being touched without warning, she sat paralyzed as he slipped a thick silver ring onto her fourth digit.

She stared. A bonding ring? He
dared
to do that?

“This is for your protection,” he was saying over the furious stream of anger pulsing through her body. His words stalled any retaliation. “It’s meant to look like a bonding ring, but it’s actually an alarm. All you need to do is squeeze hard and help will come. Should you need any. It will even Mist in and out with you.”

Tyree stared at the ring and forced herself calm. If she’d been in combat mode—and it had been a close call there for a second—she’d have broken his arm. Of course Mirsee would have worn one of these, and Tyree had to play the part.

“Thank you,” she murmured. The adrenaline surge that had answered her anger left a cold wash through her veins. She’d have to watch that. Or maybe it was D’joren who should be more careful? “How much have you been told about me?”

“The Inc-Su disclosed
some
information to me. About your society in general. And about you.”

She met his gaze, and saw a fleeting echo of pain in his eyes. Yes, her appearance hurt him. “You know that I’m Mirsee’s sibling? That we’re from the same genetic group?”

“I know that both of you came from an identical group cloned from an Inc-Su parent. The Terrans have long debated over the origins of the Inc-Su, but your people favor their privacy. Or perhaps they wish to remain deliberately enigmatic and outside of Terran civilization.”

“Does that bother them?”

“Oh, absolutely!” D’joren leaned back in his seat, once more clasping his hands together. Tyree noted how long and slender they were—an artist’s hands. “Humans are well known for their curiosity. Solving the mystery of the Inc-Su is a great temptation.”

“We do value our privacy.”

“And I respect that. But I was married to a Su for five years. I...loved her more than words can express.”

Tyree heard the pain in his voice. “I’m not her, though.”

“No, I understand that. Even though you look identical. There is...a difference to you. To the way you move. The way you speak.” D’joren spoke slowly, as if each word hurt. As if each cost him more than he could bear to say. “You are not Mirsee. And I don’t expect you to be.”