WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) (43 page)
Read WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) Online
Authors: Susan Cartwright
Tags: #Romance, #Science Fiction, #Dark Heroic Fantasy
Ash’s eyebrows drew down in a frown. “You make it sound so bad.” He studied her curiously, weighing her words. Other than the rare hint of a blush, Lindha always had her countenance under control. Tranquil and self possessed, Ash had never seen her lose her temper or show unseemly reactions as Prefect. She could be herself with him, when she was simply Lindha. But her position as Prefect required a different persona. Possibly no one, except perhaps Jeeha could tell when the Temple Prefect was tense and upset. Ash could always see the difference between the person she projected and the person she was.
Ash knew that he had upset her.
He breathed in deeply, and then sighed. “I guess that’s because it
is
bad. All right, you win. Give the boys companions, genuine companions, and leave it at that. We will also leave mind-touch through sex out of the equation while they are young. Perhaps the Dark Sankomin can be managed through counseling and communication with people they trust. I’ll be happy if they just connect with
someone
. If things get out of hand I’ll get their permission and try to mind-touch them myself. Are you happy now?”
Lindha gave him a wide grin and a little bounce of joy. “Yes. I’ll find just the right Sisters, I swear it. They will care of those boys and befriend them. This is an easy task, Trueborn.”
“Good. You worry too much.”
She snuggled back down beside him, and smiled at his embrace.
Ash stroked Lindha’s back, his face smiled against her as he smelled her hair. Dorian would not be fooled. No matter how sensitive and careful the Sisters were, Dorian would know that Ash was behind the befriending.
He was too quick, that boy.
The warm weight of the King’s Mirror pressed against his arm and Ash frowned, remembering. There was one area in which he was still deeply troubled. That disturbing dream he had had last night. Perhaps it was a sign. He was happy and at peace here with Lindha and perhaps he shouldn’t be. His father and his people had been killed. He needed to avenge them. He had withheld the vision from Lindha, waiting until he had worked out the meaning for himself. Ash clenched his teeth and mentally swore. How he hated the man.
He stiffened and shifted, disturbing Lindha from her languorous reverie.
“What is it, Ash?”
“Nothing. I’ve just been thinking.”
“And what is it that gives such dark thoughts?”
“Lindha,” he said. “I know now what I must do. I made a vow almost five years ago and the Goddess has not let me forget it. Last night I had a dream. I was traveling in search and there I saw a man.” He hesitated, recalling the dream. “I killed that man — with my bare hands.”
“Was it Forseth?”
“Yes. I know now the purpose of the Trueborn. I must kill that man.”
Lindha looked away. “I can’t advise against your purpose; as you are well aware, it would break my vows. If it is your wish to seek this man, to end his life, then it is the duty of the Prefect and our Temple to help you achieve this goal.”
Ash turned to her, aware that he had upset her again. He gripped her hands tightly. “Think of the parables, Lindha. ‘For everything, there is a season; a time to live, a time to die.’ You know this. Sometimes killing is the right thing to do.”
“But, Ash,” Lindha pleaded, coming dangerously close to breaking her vows. “How do you know that the vision was from Jana? Perhaps it was Taro in your dreams. Remember the Testimonials:
‘Hate crushes the power. In blindness thou shall see a world of enemies, eyes cast toward revenge, not gentle truth.’”
“No,” Ash said. “That doesn’t apply. He himself has wrought the evil, yet he still lives. It is for the Trueborn, the last of my people, to kill him.”
She looked unconvinced.
“Lindha. Trust me,” his voice was low with determined menace. “I intend to find and kill that son of Taro and return to you.”
“Certainly, Trueborn,” she affirmed, the Prefect once more. “When did you want to leave?”
“The sooner I’m gone, the sooner I will return.”
She bit her lower lip, something Ash had never seen her do. “Don’t worry, Lindha. That Taro spawn has Chinter’s Chance against me. You know that, don’t you?”
“He was a Freeworlds policeman, a dangerous man. They have extensive combat training, Ash.”
“So what! I’ve fought an enormous maddened boar with a little knife.”
She gave him a smile at that.
“When I come back we can retrieve the Testimonials from
Assurance
. I’ll also find my wolf family once this task is done. Wherever they are, they will be worried about me. There is much to do, my love.” He stood up, pulling her to her feet. “Do you know,” he said, “that I’ll be eighteen in four months time? I’ll be back by then and old enough to legally wed.” He drew Lindha to him and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “There is just enough time. Everything will work out perfectly.”
All uncertainty was over.
They dressed and mounted their horses, riding back to the Temple. Ash was astounded with the amount of credit, gold and jewels he was provided, just in case they were needed. He was further amazed to discover that there were Sisters of Jana on every Freeworld, all pledged to serve him. He must have hundreds and thousands of people, all at his command. The thought made him feel invulnerable.
In each Temple was a Prefect, waiting for the Trueborn, forced to remain a maiden by her vows. He intended to change all that. No one need remain chaste. He had found his one true love. When Lindha had asked where he wished to go, he hadn’t hesitated. In his heart he knew where he would find ex-police Captain Larren Forseth.
“Kalar,” Ash spat with complete certainty. The chill of death was in his voice.
You would live forever, Lord, if not for the Delian child.
— Personal Seer of High Lord Andros
T
he party was in the ballroom. This opulent space was furnished and fitted, gilt edged and magnificent. It took up an entire floor of the skyscraper, the foundation of which was as large as a city block. An Earth Antiquarian of some note, High Lord Andros had spared no expense to make it into an exact replica of a North American ballroom from the late 1900s. The waiting staff was dressed in realistically reproduced black tuxedos with crisp white shirts. The orchestra, dressed appropriately, played Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey and Glen Miller, suitable for the “Big Band” era. While invitations had requested “black tie,” a number of guests, excited by such a prestigious event, had gotten into the spirit of the occasion and had also come in imitation costume. The event was being copied for Icom viewing for select friends, staff and significant political partners or interests that were unable to attend.
“Thank you, my friends. Thank you.” High Lord John Andros stood smiling after the birthday toast. He was uniquely dressed in a double-breasted white tuxedo with silk lapels and black shirt. He alone, as Guest of Honor, was wearing a white tie.
“Speech! Speech!” came the cries from the party guests.
“Yes! Speech!”
Andros nodded benignly and raised his hand in submission, his other hand still holding a glass of authentic Crystal Brut, 2210. It may have been the last drop of genuine Earth champagne.
“On this, the year 2400 and my fifty-fifth year, I give my heartfelt thanks to you all,” he said, nodding at the crowd. “A toast: To my fellow government servants in High Command; to those who have followed and assisted in my career; to my family, my good friends,” he paused, “and to the rest of you.” The audience laughed.
“This has been an excellent year for us all. A fulfilling year. The UWG is flourishing, expanding and running in surplus. We have many, many plans that are coming to fruition. I don’t need to tell you: Our cup runneth over.” He raised his glass and drank once more, to a chorus of laughter.
The birthday celebration was held in his home and went on until early morning. Andros left as soon as courtesy and discretion would allow. Walking down an enormous hallway, he passed a gallery of priceless sculptures and historic portraits and entered the tube that took him to the upper levels. His journey upward took a few minutes, though that was not due to a hesitant speed. The fact was that there were hundreds of floors in the gigantic, modern mansion. He owned the top hundred levels of the skyscraper; his servants lived below. His penthouse was over two-thousand-meters high.
With real satisfaction and pleasure, Andros stepped out into his Intelligence Room. Here was where he loved to spend his time. He activated the display. Like in a large entertainment complex, a bright and colorful array of information came alive. Each world had its own clear panel, projecting detailed graphic information. Above him the entire Milky Way was displayed, each Freeworld represented in the vastness of galactic space.
He unclipped his white tie, tossing it on an alcove desk. Cirani, the prison planet, was what he set eyes on first. It was a small, compact world, one-and-a-fifth times normal gravity. The percentage of oxygen to air on Cirani was sustainable, with a normal ratio of oxygen to nitrogen. However, the air was thin. While a lucky few had no symptoms, most living on Cirani at first experienced serious, often fatal, altitude sickness. With little to recommend it, and capital punishment unpopular throughout the Freeworlds, it had been set aside as a prison planet for murderers, traitors, misfits, Ferals and psychopaths. When Andros was younger and had less guard on his actions, he had occasionally sent someone there on a whim. An unexpected stab of memory tightened something inside his chest and he frowned, all pleasure momentarily disturbed. Such inexperienced, impulsive behavior was beyond him now that he had matured.
Andros’s eyes fixed as he gazed momentarily into the past. Reaching up, he unbuttoned two small buttons on the black collar of his dress shirt. It was over one-hundred-and-ninety years ago now, but it seemed like yesterday. The Lady Iritha, Temple Prefect, dark haired with silky dark brown skin and dark intelligent eyes, a resourceful and courageous woman — he had wanted her more than anything. Andros had been certain that she wanted him, too. Despite his position, she had rebuffed his every attempt at seduction. Would his life have been different had she given in to him? Married him? He had fancied he had found genuine love at the time. He no longer believed in the concept.
On her last rejection he had lost his temper. Oh, it hadn’t been obvious. Well trained, he had hidden his emotions; he hadn’t lost control. A few days later, when he would not be implicated, he had had an operative stun her, kidnap her and place her on Cirani. Just for ten days. Ten days would be enough to make her understand his power. He had no apprehensions that she could have died there: the woman was astonishingly capable, a master at self defense. Further, she hadn’t been sent without resources.
When the time was up, the same operative was sent in. With codes to pass the planet’s force field barriers, he went to extract her. A locator had been added to Iritha’s Icom — finding her hadn’t been a problem. What he hadn’t counted on was her reaction to altitude sickness. The Lady Iritha had died on Cirani. The operative, with no direct orders, hadn’t even thought to retrieve her valuable Damithst, the stupid fellow. But, there it was. She was gone and all his adolescent ideas of love and a genuine life partner had died with her.
Andros shook his head, returning to the present. He had matured and was well past such idealistic and youthful dreams. His current wife was an implanted puppet. It was safer that way.
Internment policy for Cirani was that each prisoner was sterilized before being transported. Andros smiled. He had stopped all sterilization over a hundred years ago. Through natural selection, only the strongest and most cunning would survive. The offspring on Cirani might become useful, training as his loyal soldiers in the unnaturally harsh environment. By nature, Lord John Andros was not a wasteful man. He was also curious. He had the time to observe this social and physical experiment; he would be there, at the outcome.
Andros touched the clear plasti-panel of Cirani reverently. He was two-hundred-and-fifty-five years old today. So many alterations over the years: names, hair and skin color, facial features. He had almost forgotten what he originally looked like. He alone, in all the United Worlds, had the power of virtually eternal life. And he could bestow long life to others, with or without their knowledge. So far he had kept this information completely to himself, although Admiral Neopol Jones, typically astute, suspected the truth.
A screen flashed, and Andros moved toward it with interest.
Ah,
he thought.
An info ship from Opan must have come in, transferring data
. Hmm. This was interesting. It was a report. “Accounts concerning Delian Damithst: Initial results.” Another item flashed and Andros was instantly diverted. He had marked incoming information of this kind with an alert. The Delian Prince, Ashton Chayton, was confirmed dead on Opan.
Opan,
of all places.
Andros laughed. Out loud, he said, “Seek and ye shall find; knock and the door shall be opened to you.”