Requiem for Anthi: Anthi - Book Two (12 page)

A fine mist of water fell upon her. She laughed, lifting her arms to the water, then quickly stripped off her gown and let the shower stream over her.

Moments later, the water pulses began alternating with puffs of warm air, the latter growing more frequent until she stood dry and tingling under the lights. The water pooled around her feet drained away for recycling. Zaula approved. Even luxury should not be wasted.

A wall panel slid open, and in astonishment she pulled a garment from the recess. It was soft and supple to the touch. Always interested in clothes, she shook out the folds and smiled.

It was a ludicrous thing, all of one piece with tunic and trousers for a man. She cocked her head to one side, amused by the notion of herself in
ka
clothes. No self-respecting
dl
of a noble house would dare appear in something that exposed her limbs so boldly. And as Tsla leiis, she must never—no.

Bitterness twisted inside her, making her crumple the garment in her fist. She was leiis no longer. She had been given to the
n’kai
like a piece of bartered goods.

All her life others more powerful than she had shaped her life. From a childhood in the citadel of her house, whisked out of sight when adults of rank walked through the nursery, she had been annually inspected by a trio of the matriarch’s women in waiting. Her teeth, her eyes, the straightness of her limbs, the gracefulness of her walk, the shade of her skin, the sheen of her hair, the quality of her voice, the strength of her rings—all were checked and discussed as though she were nothing but a despised Henan slave of no caste.

When she became a woman, her own father consented to see her, but she knew nothing of the visit except that she was placed beside a fountain in the villa and told to play tunes on her bailanke. He watched her from the latticed balcony, spying on her, judging her beauty and ability to please a man. Two days later she was masked, robed, and taken to the palace of Leiil Hihuan, to become his leiis, to preside over his Court of Women, to have first consequence in the tiny circle allotted her.

The old resentment came back as she thought of those days as ring-mate when she was toyed with, ignored, summoned abruptly, expected to adore and reverence a man who never troubled to become other than a stranger to her. Without Fflir she would have gone mad in that perfumed prison. Lying in Fflir’s arms, she used to dream of the days when she would be free.

Zaula coughed in anger. What good were dreams? They were as clouds on the horizon of the Outerlands, mirages that promised the sweet rain yet never came.

And yet…She slowly turned around, frowning at her surroundings. If this was a prison, it was the gentlest one she had ever known. These
n’kai
were rich beyond belief, rich enough to provide captives with exquisite comfort. And the
n’kai
, no matter what terrible thing they might have planned for her, did not care whether she was leiis or deposed leiis. Rank and caste were beyond their limited understanding. The proud history of her house was as grains of dust to them. Even her beauty had ceased to enslave her, for to the alien eyes of the
n’kai
she could not be beautiful. Their idea of beauty was trapped in the center of that stone in the other room.

Aware of a sense of release, she smoothed out the crumpled garment where she had gripped it so angrily. Her fingers ran along the diagonal band of dark green, and the tunic opened.

Intrigued by the invisible fastenings, she closed and opened it several times, then smiled to herself in a burst of mischief and pulled the garment on.

It fit, more or less, being snug across her breasts and shapeless at the waist. She was about the same height as most of the
n’kai
. She stared down at her legs encased in the trousers and wriggled her bare golden toes. It felt good to do what was forbidden.

She put on her slippers and went back into the other room. Two men were standing there with drawn weapons.

Startled, she gasped and stopped in the doorway, gripping it with both hands.

One of them spoke and advanced on her. She backed up into the small bathing alcove, but retreat was futile. Annoyance twisted the human’s dark face. He spoke again, more sharply this time, and gestured a command she did not understand.

“What do you want?” asked Zaula, trying not to panic.

The human grabbed her arm, and she cried out in fear. His fingers were surprisingly strong for one of his small size. He pulled her from the alcove and swung her around so that she was pinned up against the table. Still holding her in that bruising grip, he pushed up her sleeve and held the pale golden length of her forearm extended.

The second human holstered his weapon and pulled a tube no longer than the length of his hand from his pocket. One end of the tube was pointed. Producing another instrument, this one a short thick cylinder also pointed on one end, he walked up to Zaula and made a deft incision in her arm.

She screamed, but to her surprise there was no pain. The man holding her pressed his free hand against the vulnerable spots of her throat. He spoke, but she already understood from the pressure that she was to remain very still. She obeyed, her heart fluttering erratically inside her. Her broken rings stirred, instinctively trying to form to save her. But she was helpless, unable to do more than watch these creatures as they opened her flesh and probed within the tissues of her arm.

The probe grated on bone, then touched something that sent a quiver through her. The
n’ka
grunted as though satisfied and fitted a tiny object inside her arm, then closed the incision. Zaula stared, still unable to believe there had been no blood and no pain. Only a faint pink line showed where the cut had been made.

“…should work adequately,” said the human with the instruments.

Zaula jerked, startled that she could suddenly understand him.

He bared his teeth at her. “Good. It’s working, Mike. She understands us now.”

The man holding her grunted and released her. Zaula sagged against the table, feeling bruised and still frightened.

“We’ve fitted you with a translator,” said the first human. He had the bony thinness of desert people and a gaunt, awkward way of moving despite his deftness with the instruments. His hair grew in white tufts that stuck out over his ears, and thick gray eyebrows jutted out above deep-set eyes. “Normally we put them in behind the ear where they work at maximum effectiveness, but we were a little dubious about getting you to hold still for that. How do you feel? Any discomfort in the arm?”

Zaula stared at him, not yet daring to speak. By the mercy of Anthi, how many wonders did these
n’kai
possess? Slowly she turned her palm down in answer.

The
n’ka
frowned. “It’s all right. You needn’t be afraid to speak to us. We’re fitted with translators too. Part of our job. Of course we had to make some adjustments. Your language is a bit more complicated than most we’re used to. Fitting it to Standard took a while. Otherwise, we’d have come in here sooner to see you.”

“I don’t think she’s getting any of this,” said the human called Mike. At least she supposed he was human. His skin was as dark as orad heartwood, and his hair grew in small tight knobs all over his skull. He shook his head. “Ramer’s always claimed to be smarter than he is. I don’t think he’s made much sense of those interrogation tapes. Even the machines are having trouble translating.”

“Perhaps.” The older
n’ka
glanced back at Zaula. “Let’s try something simple. What is your name?”

Zaula evaded his gaze in desperation. Court etiquette had provided no training for this situation. That she stood here in the company of strange men without her mask was bad enough, but that they expected to speak directly to her and for her to answer was a thing not done.

“What is your name?”

The tone was sharper. Zaula flinched. She stared longingly at her leadweave cloak. If she could only put it on, she would not feel so foolish and exposed.

The human sighed and ran his fingers through his white hair. “I am Dr. Liebtz. This is Mike Powers. We aren’t part of the regular crew. We are GSI specialists sent along on this mission as observers. Please tell us your name.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Taboo?” suggested Mike.

Liebtz frowned at him and shook his head.

Zaula watched their exchange in alarm. They gestured more with head movements and facial expressions instead of their hands. Did they not usually wear masks? That must be why they had not provided her with one. Or else they wanted to humiliate her. Either way, it was hard to understand them when she could not comprehend the nuances.

“Why won’t you tell us your name?” asked Liebtz.

Mike made an impatient movement beside her. Zaula remembered that expert pressure against her throat and shrank from him.

“It is not a thing you are permitted to know,” she said. “To speak to me is not permitted. Not like this.”

She expected Liebtz to apologize or at least look abashed. Instead his gaze shot to Mike.

“How is she registering?”

“Honest,” said Mike. “Fear, annoyance, worry. I told you we’re crossing taboos.”

Liebtz shrugged. “Telepathy use?”

“Negative.”

Zaula turned to stare at Mike. What was this dark creature? She had felt no touch against her rings. How then did he know so much? She met his queer, striped gaze—brown surrounded by the white of blindness—and read only detached curiosity.

Zaula drew in a breath, reminding herself that they were only
n’kai
. They knew nothing about what was proper.

“If you wish to observe the culture on Ruantl,” she said, “then you should ask your questions of the Bban’n, not us. Your mutations are not as great as theirs, but you should be able to find qualities in common.”

There. She’d said it. A deep insult to the blood delivered in courtesy tone. She held her breath, wondering if her challenge would result in a slashed throat. At least she would die with honor, a wife and daughter of warriors.

Instead of anger, they expressed only puzzlement.

“Mutations?” said Liebtz. “But we aren’t—”

“You do well with such limited sight. But—”

“Eyes.”

The humans exchanged glances, smiling. Zaula flushed, her rings stirring about her. So much for her attempt to insult them. Instead they were laughing at her.

“We don’t suffer partial blindness, if that’s what you are thinking.”

She wanted to strike them. She felt like a child trying to match wits with adults. But she couldn’t back down now.

“You are hampered. You must be.”

“Well, perhaps.” Liebtz hesitated as though thinking it over. “We don’t look at it that way, but your vision must be close to total periphery…wouldn’t you say, Mike?”

“Anatomy isn’t my field.”

“No.” Liebtz coughed. “Still, it’s another comparison project for the lab boys when we get back to Central.” He reached out and very gently touched Zaula on the shoulder.

She flinched away, reaching instinctively for the jen-knife she did not have.

“You must remember that you are far away from your people now,” he said. “We are going to take you back with us to where we come from. We want to learn all we can about your culture. Now you have told us that we aren’t permitted to know your name. I’m sorry we must cross that barrier, but if you won’t tell us who you are, then we must give you a name of our own.”

She hissed in outrage.

“Precisely,” he said, still in that gentle tone. “I thought you wouldn’t like that. But it’s your choice.”

She frowned, going over his words in her mind. “You are taking me away from Ruantl? How far is this?”

Mike stirred with a warning, but Liebtz ignored him.

“Do you understand the concept of space travel? The twinkling lights in the sky are—”

“I am not a Bban savage,” she said angrily. “I am Tlar. If you think we were spawned upon such an evil place as this planet, then you are fools. How far do you take me?”

Liebtz was trying hard to conceal his surprise. “Very faraway. Almost halfway across the galaxy, in fact.”

Her own heart leapt Did he know of Tlartantla? Had he ever journeyed there? Perhaps, oh, perhaps she might see it.

She hid her excitement, however. “Will I be brought back?”

“Of course.”

But he was lying.

She did not care. She was among people who enjoyed plentiful heat, light, water, and probably food. They had machines that worked. They had no need of masks and heavy leadweave clothes. Their lies to her did not matter. Her fear melted into eagerness to go with them.

Lifting her chin, she faced him and said, “It is not of need to give me a
n’dl
name. I was Zaula n’Tlar dl’Soot’dla, Tsla leiis of the tyrant Hihuan, Firstborn of Ruven, Beloved of Anthi, Star of Altian, and blood mother of Leiin Cirthe.” She made a small gesture of repudiation, clearing away her former life as one brushes away the black sand of the desert. “Now I am Zaula. Nothing else. Call me by it if you choose.”

“Fine,” said Liebtz. “Make a note of all that, Mike.”

“Noted.” Mike’s cold gaze swept over her. He pointed toward the door. “Time for phase two.”

Liebtz frowned. “So soon?”

“Why not?”

“Very well. Zaula, we want you to come with us to another part of the ship. Will you do that?”

She moved as though to reach for her cloak, but Mike got in her way.

“You don’t need that,” he said. “The temperatures are even throughout the ship. Come.”

Not certain what to expect next, she went with them.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Liebtz. “Please sit down and wait here.”

Zaula paused by the bench he had indicated. This chamber he had brought her to was very small, scarcely wide enough for them to stand facing each other. It was white and featureless except for two short benches which folded down from opposite walls and a circle of black glass fitted into the center of the ceiling. She thought of the ever-present eye of Anthi and shivered. Who watched over the humans?

“Why should I fear?” she asked haughtily. “What is to be done to me?”