At The Edge Of Space (Hanan Rebellion) (69 page)

“I shall. Leave me now. I shall begin at once.”

He broke contact, but he was back before she had crossed the deck to the command console.
Chaikhe, understand: I must—

His trouble set her teeth on edge and backlashed to such an extent that he hastily withdrew the feeler. She took firm grip on her rational faculty and invited his return.

Chaikhe, I—must stay. I do not lack
chanokhia,
I protest I am not sensitive to your distress. I dislike this proximity. It grates, it hurts—
“I must remain in contact. Chimele’s order,
nasith.
She judges it necessary.”
But Chimele does not suffer, she does not feel this.

Chaikhe shuddered as he did. The consciousness of the child within her sent a quick pulse of fury over her, an impulse to kill: and that impulse directed at Rakhi distressed her greatly. Something powerful stirred in her blood. Chemistry beyond her control was already beginning subtle changes in her; her temper almost ruled her. Her
takkhenois
was devastating. Her own power frightened her.
Is it this, to be
katasathe?

“Chaikhe,” Rakhi’s thought reached her, faint and timid, “Chaikhe, honor to you,
nasith-tak,
but I must do as I am told. Chimele—”

“I perceive, I perceive, I perceive.” For a moment the faculty of reasonable response left her, and she was a prey to the anger; but then there was the cold clarity of Rakhi’s thought in her mind. Au,
Chaikhe, Chaikhe, what is happening?

And Chaikhe looked down at the green robes that were the honor of a
katasathe
and felt a moment of panic, a wish to shed these and the child at once and to be Chaikhe again. The violence growing in her mind went against everything she had always honored; and it was the child’s doing.

Yet the thought of yielding up the child before the time shocked her. She could not. The process would complete itself inexorably and the madness, the honorable madness, would fasten itself upon her, a possession over which logic had no power.

Long moments later Rakhi felt again toward her mind, fear at first, and then that characteristic humor that was Rakhi. “O
nasith-tak,
being
katasathe
is a situation of ultimate frustration to a male. If I should also become
dhisais,
I know not what I shall do with myself. Will they let me in the
dhis,
do you think?”
Or shall I die,
nasith-tak?
I should rather that, than to lose my mind.

In another male his language would have been unbearably offensive to her condition—for to be
katasathe
was to hold a
m’melakhia
so private and so possessive that proximity to others as equals was unbearable. Had she been aboard
Ashanome
, she would have resigned her other activities and settled into a period of waiting, accepting gifts of the
nasul,
protection of Ashakh, increasingly occupied with her own thoughts. But in a strange way Rakhi did share with her, and could not really share or threaten; and she felt his disadvantage as her own. Their
arastiethe
had become almost one, and Rakhi had a right to such frankness.

We have begun to merge,
he thought suddenly. Au,
Chaikhe, Chaikhe-
nasith,
what will become of me?

She is ill,
she perceived Rakhi telling Chimele in great alarm, sweating, for he felt it too.

“‘No,’” came Chimele’s answer, and in her mind she could see Chimele’s brooding face sketched by the tone of the answer. “‘No, no illness. What was put into Chaikhe’s veins while she slept was no more than nature would have sent soon enough. My profound regret, Chaikhe.’ ”

You are driving me to this state!
she realized suddenly, with a flood of anger that hurt Rakhi no less; she felt the tremor that ran through him and his shame at having unwittingly participated. Then bitter laughter rose in her.
Honor to Chimele
sra
-Chaxal.
Vaikka, vaikka,
o Chimele, shadow-worker. From all others I knew how to defend myself; but those that come between Chimele and necessity must suffer for it. Honor to you indeed,
nasith.

“I knew nothing of it,” Rakhi protested. “I did not, Chaikhe.”

We are both disadvantaged,
nasith-toj.
But when did one ever deal with Chimele and profit from it? Go. Go away.

He fled in great discomfort, and Chaikhe sank down at the control console, her indigo fingers clenched together until the knuckles turned pale. Then with an abrupt act of will she forced her mind to business and fired an impulse to Tesyel, nas kame in charge of the base ship.
Tesyel,
she sent him,
have Neya escort the
bnesych
Gerlach to me immediately, giving him no opportunity for delay. If he be sleeping or naked as the day he was born, still give him no time to turn aside. If there are others with him, bring them. If they resist, destroy them. Use whatever of the
okkitani-as
you need in this.

A light flashed on the board, Tesyel’s signaled acknowledgment. Chaikhe noted it as a matter expected and put the wide scan from the base ship on her own screens.

Something flashed there, coming hard, at the far limit of the screen. She exerted herself to fire, almost a negligent gesture, for she meant to seal Weissmouth against all aircraft until Ashakh was heard from, and had it been Ashakh, she was sure she would have been advised.

The incoming ship brushed off the fire and varied nothing from its course, far outstripping amaut capabilities in its speed and defenses. It was huge, just inside the limits for intra-atmosphere operation.

The recognition occupied less than a second in Chaikhe’s mind, as long as it took to flash a warning to Tesyel aboard the base command ship.

Tejef!
her mind cried at Rakhi, shamefully hysterical, and rage and the wish to kill washed over her to the depths of her belly. Her ship blasted out a futile barrage at the incoming vessel, which showed every evidence of intending a landing: stalemate. Greater expense of energy could wipe out Weissmouth and the surrounding valley and still not penetrate the other’s defenses.

Calm!
Rakhi insisted.
Calm! Think as Chaikhe, not as a
dhisais. O nasith-tak,
if ever you needed your wits it is now. Conserve power, conserve, waste nothing and do not let him harm our people in the city. You are the citadel of our power on Priamos. If you fall, it is over. Do not add yourself to Tejef for
serach.

Power fluctuated wildly. In mental symbiosis with the ship’s mechanisms, Chaikhe felt it like a wound and shuddered.
We are attacked. And Tesyel cannot control the base ship like an iduve.
But while the attack continued, her mind centered on one delicate task, an electronic surgery that altered contacts and began to unite her little ship with Tesyel’s larger one, putting systems into communication so that she could draw upon the greater weapons of the base ship and command the computer that regulated its defensive systems. This would hold as long as her ship retained power to send command impulses. When that faded, she would lose command of the base ship. When that happened, Tejef would hold Priamos alone.

A half-day remained. When the sun stood at zenith over Weissmouth, the deadline would have expired; and Tejef’s ship could force her to exhaust her power reserves well before that time, pounding at her defenses, forcing her to extend the power of her ship simply to survive.

13

“T
heyare down,”said Aiela. His mind wrenched from his asuthi and became again aware of Ashakh’s face looking into his in the dim light of Kleph’s wrist-glove, a witchfire flicker of color in the eyes of the iduve. Insanely he thought of being pent in a close space with a great carnivore, felt his heart laboring at the mere touch of the iduve’s sinewy hand on his shoulder. Iduve weighed more than they looked. They were hard muscle, explosive power with little long-distance endurance. Even the touch of them felt different. Aiela tried not to flinch and concentrated anew on what his asuthi were sending now—awareness of engine shutdown, their own frustration and helplessness, locked as they were within their own quarters.

I was not secured until we lifted,
Daniel sent him, bitter with self-accusation.
I waited, I waited, hoped for a better chance. But now that door is sealed and locked.

And that communication flowed to the tunnels of Weissmouth through Aiela’s lips, a hoarse whisper.

“Is Khasif possibly conscious?” Ashakh asked.

“‘No,’” Daniel responded. “ ‘At least I doubt it.’ ”

“It agrees with my own perception. But free him, if you should find the chance. Bend all your efforts to free him.”

“ ‘I understand,’” sent Isande. “ ‘Where are you?’ ”

“Do not ask,” Ashakh sent sharply and used Aiela’s
idoikkhe
enough to sting. Aiela pulled back from the contact, for he was weary enough to betray things he would not have sent knowingly. His asuthi sent him a final appeal, private:
Get off this world; if you have the option, take it to get out of here.
And Isande sent him something very warm and very sad at once, which he treasured.

“What are they saying?” Ashakh asked, pressing his shoulder again; but the iduve might have broken the arm at that moment and Aiela would still have returned the same blank refusal to say. His mind was filled with two others and his eyes were blinded with diffused light.

Get out,
Daniel sent him, pushing through his faltering screens, and Isande did the same, willing him to go, warning him of Ashakh and of trusting the amaut. They left a great emptiness behind them.

“
M’metane.
” Ashakh’s grip hurt, but he did not use the
idoikkhe
this time. “What is wrong?”

“They—cannot help. They don’t know what to do.”

The iduve’s brows were drawn into a frown, his thin face set in an anger foreign to his harsh but disciplined person. “I sense his presence, whether he senses mine or not—and Chaikhe—Chaikhe—”

Something troubled Ashakh. His eyes were almost wild, so that Kleph shrank from him and Aiela stayed very still, fearing the iduve might strike at any sudden move. But the iduve rested kneeling, as if he were listening for a voice that no other could hear, like a man hearing the inner voice of an asuthe. His eyes stared into space, his lips parted as if he would cry out, but with an apparent effort he shook off the thing that touched him.

“There is a wrongness,” he exclaimed, “a fear—one of my
nasithi
is afraid, and I do not know which. Perhaps it is Tejef. We were once of the same
nasul
and we were
takkhe.
Perhaps it is his dying I feel.”

And it was indicative of his confusion that he spoke such things aloud, within the hearing of a
m’metane
and an outsider. In another moment he looked aware, and his face took on its accustomed hardness.

“You are empaths,” Aiela realized, and said it without thinking.

“No—not—quite that,
m’metane.
But I feel the
takkhenes
of two minds from the port—Chaikhe—Tejef—I cannot sort them out. If she and he are diverting a great portion of their attention to managing ships’ systems, it could account for the oddness—but it is wrong,
m’metane,
it is wrong. And from Khasif, I receive nothing—at least I surmise that his mind is the silent one.” He had spoken in his native tongue, conceding this to Aiela, but not to Kleph, who huddled in terror against the wall, and now he turned a burning look on the amaut.

“We are still going to the port,” he said to Kleph, “and you are involved in our affairs to an extent no outsider may be. From now on you are
okkitan-as
to
Ashanome,
the
nasul
of which we two are part.”

“Ai, sir, great lord,” wailed Kleph, making that gulping deep in his throat which was amautish weeping. “I am nothing, I am no one, I am utterly insignificant. Please let this poor person go. I will show you the port, oh, most gladly, sir, most gladly, serving you. But I am a clerk, no fighter, and I am not accustomed to weapons and I do not wish to be
okkitan-as
and travel forever.”

Ashakh said nothing, nor glowered nor threatened; there was only a quiet thoughtfulness in his eyes, a wondering doubtless when would be the most rationally proper time to dispose of Kleph. Aiela moved quickly to interpose his calming
harachia
and to warn Kleph with a painful grip of his fingers that he was going too far.

“Kleph is indeed a clerk,” Aiela confirmed, “and wished to become a farmer, quite likely; his mind is unprepared for the idea of service to a
nasul.
But he is also sensible and resourceful, and he would be an asset.”

“He has a choice. I have a homing sense adequate to return us to the port even in these tunnels, but it would be a convenience if this person showed us the quickest way.”

“Yes, sir.” Kleph seemed to catch the implication of the alternative, for his pale saucer eyes grew very wide. “I shall do that.”

And the little fellow turned upon hands and feet and scrambled up to go, they following; and ever and again Aiela could detect small thudding sounds which were sobs from the amaut’s resonant throat. It was well for Kleph that the iduve allowed his species liberties in accordance with their (from the kalliran view) amoral nature. But quite probably Ashakh no more understood the workings of Kleph’s mind than he did that of a serpent. The drives and needs that animated this little fellow could scarcely be translated into iduve language, and it would probably be Ashakh’s choice to destroy him if the perplexity grew great enough to overpower advantage. The iduve were essentially a cautious people.

As for Kleph, Aiela thought, Ashakh might have bought him body and soul if he had offered him ten
lioi
of land; but it was too late for that now.