CHAPTER 25

Devri exerts himself to be charming.

Through Vel, he shares amusing anecdotes about the way the tide can turn in any business deal, no matter how secure the investment seems. I must admit, he’s good company. I acquit myself fairly well for someone who didn’t know what day it was three hours ago. Jael stands quietly by my side; but since I know what to look for, I can tell he’s on guard.

After half an hour or so, Devri asks, “I need to talk to Velith for a moment. Do you mind?”

I gather he needs a private moment. He can’t be asking for that because he’s worried about me overhearing, so it must be the others he’s concerned about. It’s probably related to the conspiracy I overheard yesterday, or maybe Devri knows about the Grand Administrator’s threat. Vel should give me a full report when he returns. So I give my blessing, and they leave the living area.

The world has a strange distance, as if I am in it but not part of it. Ithtorians give me a wide berth as if my soft skin might be contagious. If I stay here long enough, I might internalize their opinion that my unarmored flesh is monstrous. I already feel raw and vulnerable, as if I’m revealing parts of myself that ought to be covered. I fight the urge to cover my bare arms, taking comfort in the scars that thicken my fragile skin.

What kind of creatures are humans anyway? We lack claws or fangs; we have no natural defense mechanisms. When I consider, it does seem wrong, like we went awry somewhere on the evolutionary ladder. I’m used to the sounds of Ithtorian language: the clicks and chitters don’t strike me as strange or alien now that I’m able to understand them.

Jael sets his hand on my arm. “Are you all right?”

“Other than being drugged, forced to experience painful hallucinations, and threatened with death?

Yeah, I’m great.”

His whole body goes taut. “Who threatened you?”

“The Grand Administrator. What’re you going to do about it?”

His icy gaze searches mine, verifying that I’m serious. Then he says, very softly, “I could kill her.”

He means it. Being Bred means he’s not subject to the same limitations as other men. For a moment, I’m sickly tempted. If she’s removed, and they don’t trace it back to us, maybe someone more amenable to our cause would be appointed. But no, it’s too big a risk, and I can’t unleash Jael here. He’s like a double-edged sword.

I shake my head. “No. That’s not the way to go. But . . . I appreciate the offer.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I’ll alert the others to the danger as well.” By his expression, he’s preparing to lecture me about March some more.

Holding up a hand, I forestall that gambit. “Not right now, please. I’m still feeling a little fragile.”

It’s a painful admission, and I hope to Mary he doesn’t ask why. His frost blue eyes search my face, then his face softens. “You look like I felt, the time they told me what I was.”

My heart skips a beat. This is the first time he’s referred to being Bred in more than a flippant sense.

There’s real emotion here, and I don’t know what to do with it. “How old were you?”

“In biological terms? Twelve. But they accelerated our development, so I don’t know exactly how old I am.”

“There were more of you?” I try to keep my tone gentle.

He nods. “I came from a pod of ten. I thought they were my brothers and sisters until that moment.

They raised us crèche-style, and let us believe we were orphans. They wanted to reduce the risk of madness and other disorders. Even so, it didn’t entirely work. Seven of us died before reaching maturity.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was the experiments that came afterward, not the revelation. Some of them didn’t have a very high tolerance for pain.”

“I’m surprised they let you go.”

A cold little smile twists his mouth. “They didn’t.”

There are so many questions I could ask, but Sharis comes up to us, offers a wa that inexplicably reminds me of the ocean, then chatters as if he’s been drinking, forgetting I’m not supposed to understand a word he says.

“What has happened to Velith? It is most impolite of him to leave you with only this worthless soft-skin for escort.”

I regard him with a polite, blank expression, trying not to reveal comprehension or amusement at his assessment of Jael.

“My apologies.” He bows again, talking more to himself this time. “I occasionally forget you belong to one of the subspecies. Sometimes you almost seem smarter than a cave beast, but that must be Il-Nok’s influence. He remains well-spoken even after so many turns away. Just think of what he might have achieved.”

Never have I resented this chip so much. I can’t show interest, can’t indicate that I want him to keep talking. The noises he makes with jaw, mandible, and throat are supposed to be a meaningless cacophony to me.

He falls silent, standing with me out of a desire to be courteous, I suspect. His presence keeps anyone else from approaching, so they content themselves with staring. Sharis seems to be watching the door, waiting for someone. When the door projects an image of Mako, he perks visibly. His departing wa says he can’t wait to talk to her.

Jael doesn’t pursue the other conversation. Quietly brooding, he keeps an eye on things, alert to movement all around me.

A low hum emanates from the walls. I think it might be music. Their claws twitch as if in time to some beat I can’t quite hear. It’s like they’re all playing the same instrument, eerily in cadence.

No sign of Sartha. Definitely no sign of Karom. This isn’t his kind of party, not with the filthy soft-skins wandering around like they own the place. The guests seem to be on the young, radical side. They’re all for progress.

Two merchants I recognize from this morning watch me from across the room. One is tall and tawny; his companion is smaller with a parti-colored thorax. Neither wears the marks of notable achievement, but I think it’s a measure of their youth rather than failure. Their talk washes over me, bits of speculation.

“Do you think she has accepted him as a full partner?” one asks.

“Unlikely,” the other answers. “Even if he chose exile over life in the mines, the son of Nok would never sink so low. He might be mad, but he is not depraved.”

Vel? Mad? Could this relate to his lack of conformity to expected societal roles? For the first time since awakening, I feel a flicker of interest, but I can’t move closer. It would look odd if I sought out a particular conversation without my handler’s guidance.

“Can you imagine?” the first marvels. “Being so alone, no house to which I might bring glory, no mate to share my success. I think I would prefer death.”

“You are not known for your bravery, Kalid.”

“It would not require bravery to have you killed.”

“So you have claimed, more than once. And yet here I am.”

“One day, Arqut, you will push me too far.”

“Unlikely. You need me too much.”

Now I remember what role they played in the meeting. Arqut and Kalid have partnered in a new consortium devoted to starship technology. They’re interested in improving the phase drive, something nobody has attempted in hundreds of turns.

Every spacefaring race uses this technology for long hauls. In fact, the plans were waiting for us in ancient ruins we unearthed on our moon. Interestingly enough, the same thing has happened to all species in some form or another. If not their moon, then they found the data sealed in some forgotten subterranean city, in a grand, dusty ziggurat or a jungle-covered pyramid.

It is as if the information has been seeded for us, hidden until we were advanced enough to know what to do with it. No species has succeeded in updating the original schematic, however. Without fail, alterations to the core design have resulted in dreadful accidents and excruciating death. After a while, we gave up trying to make it better; we just accepted what we’d been given.

So it’ll be interesting to see what these two can accomplish, assuming the alliance goes forward. Before now, there’s been no reason to focus on star-tech since the Ithtorians are so xenophobic. They’ve been content with what happens on their own world up until this point, but Kalid and Arqut hope to make a fortune on the cutting edge.

With so much powerful opposition, I don’t give good odds on their success. That’s too bad because they have invested their personal fortunes in this endeavor. They’re bright-eyed and idealistic, convinced they can improve the ancient technology. An idea begins to germinate as I listen to them bicker. By the time Vel comes back, it’s a full-blown plan.

“I have much to tell you,” he says. “For obvious reasons, it should wait until we are alone, but . . . suffice to say, I learned much of interest from our friend Devri. He has been briefly detained. He asks that you enjoy the party in his absence.”

The concept of friendship is a human one, not natural to the Ithtorians, so this will be a most intriguing conversation. Apparently I can still be engaged intellectually, even though my emotions seem to be shrouded in layers of ice. I agree with a nod that the discussion will keep, fixing my gaze on the merchants opposite us.

“Let’s renew our acquaintance.” I nod at Kalid and Arqut. “Can you come up with something suitably flattering?”

Vel answers, “I believe my skills are adequate for the task.” He leads the way across the room. Their mandibles move in what I take to be astonishment at being singled out like this. “The ambassador wishes me to convey her admiration for your incisive questions this morning. She recalls the two of you as being particularly astute.”

That works.

Filtered through Vel, the conversation is stilted at first, but that’s all right. I’m just laying the foundation right now. Curious, a few other merchants gather around us. Within minutes, I identify them as potential investors who want to hear the human ambassador opine regarding the consortium’s chances of financial success.

“With such fine minds like Kalid and Arqut at the helm,” I say in measured tones, “I would ordinarily expect a brilliant future.” The pause is deliberate, and my audience isn’t immune to the implied “but.”

“What causes your qualms?” an obliging Bug asks.

I glance at Vel, feigning a conspiratorial exchange. He doesn’t know what I’m doing, but he plays along, inclining his head. Good man . . . er, Bug. Whatever.

My hands twist together before me as I try to project an anxious quality. “I do not know whether they will have the opportunity to pursue this venture,” I whisper at last. “If it comes to a vote, I have no doubt the alliance will pass, but I fear it may not reach the council to be decided officially. I have been given to understand that those items proposed, which the Grand Administrator does not personally support, have a way of being tabled. She gave me this information at a private luncheon.”

Jael flashes me an approving grin. “Well played.”

Shock rocks through Vel as he realizes what I’m doing. Nonetheless, he restates my words in even more cagey terms. By informing the merchants of her threat against my person, I alert them to the potential loss of revenue. Money is power, especially here, and more than one ruler has been deposed because she mucked with the profit margins of those who put her on the throne.

They can decide what, if anything, they want to do about this. I’m not at all surprised when Arqut and Kalid make their excuses, execute a grateful wa, and depart early. I suspect they’re going to be talking to colleagues, alerting them to the possibility that the human ambassador won’t survive long enough to see the job done.

Jael excuses himself before the party’s done. I think even my bodyguard can’t stomach too much of this despite what Tarn is paying him. “You’ll be safe enough with Vel,” he whispers. “But comm me if you need anything?”

I nod.

Intrigue is exhausting. By the time we leave the party, I decide I could sleep for a week. I have the funny feeling, though, that if Vel could smile, he would be doing so now.

“That was inspired,” he says as we walk back to my quarters. “A masterful strategy, I might even dare say . . . Ithtorian.”

I smile. “So I’m becoming more like you, even as you become more like me?”

His steps still. “No, Sirantha. I am no true Ithtorian, as anyone would tell you.”

“I don’t want anyone to tell me. I’d rather you did.”

Vel hesitates so long that I think he’s going to refuse. And then: “Very well. Perhaps it is time I told someone.”

ACCESSING ARCHIVE FOOTAGE...

Omni News Net: Special Bulletin—Outpost 8

You are about to receive an update intended for adults: children under the age of fifteen should not view the following images. It is not our intention to glorify violence, merely update our viewers. If you have any serious medical conditions, you may wish to have your AI screen this story. Omni News Net is not responsible for any psychic, emotional, or spiritual damage incurred by the following bounce broadcast.

EXT. OUTPOST 8—TWILIGHT

Smoke rises from the settlement, indicating heavy-weapons discharge. Corpses litter the ground, savagely devoured and dismembered. There are no signs of life except for the man facing the vid. KEVIN

stands outside the outpost, head bowed in mournful silence. At last he raises his eyes, his expression reflecting absolute horror.

KEVIN

I’m here in the aftermath of the attack. This is one of the oldest human settlements in the Outskirts, named for the order in which the colonies were founded. These settlements speak to our determination and our refusal to accept limitations. Where other locales took on names, Outpost 8 kept its numerical designation as a sign of pride. Longevity doesn’t come easy when you live out on the frontier, but these people were an example to all of humankind. Now, the laughter is silenced, and their machines work no more. More than a thousand people lost their lives here.

Two days past, their call for aid went unheeded. Right now you’re seeing what happens when the establishment fails. The Morgut took this outpost, but they do not possess any capacity for mercy.

Outpost 8 was a haven for traders and spacers; they were peaceful and offered no defense.

KEVIN moves through the carnage. He pauses beside the remains of a small child. Her flesh is torn and bloody, great chunks of meat missing from her corpse. She lies apart from the other bodies that litter this hopeless, hellish landscape.

KEVIN

Her face will live forever as part of this atrocity. I ask you, what can we do? What hope can we offer in the face of such incomprehensible barbarism?

.END-ARCHIVE-FOOTAGE.