Requiem for Anthi: Anthi - Book Two (13 page)

“Nothing,” he said, lifting his palm. The gesture made no sense with his words. “You are now in the part of the ship that we call the in-TANK. TANK is an acronym of the various names of our equipment used in observing and interrogating specimens. Please sit down and wait here quietly.”

“But—”

“You will have food soon.”

She silenced her protest at once and sat down in hopes that her compliance would bring the food sooner. She was very hungry, especially since she had fasted following the birth of Cirthe. Her thoughts shifted uneasily away from her daughter. A monster, Asan had called her. It was true. She wanted to weep for the child. But she held the tears back.

The door opened suddenly, startling her. She stood up. Two humans in uniforms appeared with a limp Asan in their grasp. They shoved him inside roughly, sending him sprawling upon the floor at her feet. She cried out, flinching back.

“You—”

The door shut, leaving her alone with her enemy.

For a moment she stood there, breathing hard with her hatred. She had almost managed to forget about him. Now here he was in her power. She could even kill him if she chose.

Unless he was already dead.

She frowned, her anger melting away. He lay there like a crumpled rag, very still. Too still.

She knelt beside him, reached out to touch his shoulder, hesitated, then gave him a shake.

He moaned weakly and tried to shift his head.

A lock of his black hair brushed her hand. She hesitated, her fingertips resting lightly upon the back of his neck. The Bban’jen had a way of snapping the spine at that point. A certain grasp…one quick jerk…

She pulled back her hand in shame. There was no honor in killing an injured man. And she should remember that Asan the usurper had shown her kindness in the prison cell at the citadel. Others had spoken before of his kindness. They called him weak, a Bban lover, a fool. Hihuan had never been kind.

With a grimace Zaula grasped Asan’s broad, powerful shoulders and rolled him over on his back. She took a flat cushion from one of the benches and pillowed his head upon it. His skull was heavy and well shaped, with none of the narrowness common to Tlar inbreeding. She smoothed his hair back from his brow where a bruise was darkening.

Asan’s sharply ridged cheekbones and long curved nose with its thin sweep of nostril were molded beneath golden skin firm and clear. A smear of dried blood stained the corner of a mouth both wide and sensitive. She could see tiny lines at his mouth and eyes as though he were a man who smiled easily. Suddenly she longed to know the color of his eyes.

He was large, even for a Tlar, and his body filled the length of the cell. She straightened his tangled legs and crossed his arms over his mid-section, moving the limbs gently as he groaned. His hands were all bone and sinew, with sensitive tapering fingers. He wore a ring of black carbyx, rarest and most precious of stones. Beneath the tattered clothing, she could feel long flat muscles as hard as iron. His chest was deep and strong. She touched a spongy place in his side and frowned as she found other marks upon his wrists and ankles. The skin had been chafed raw by his bonds.

She glared up at the glass eye watching overhead. “Human dung, is this how you observe the culture of others? You are not worthy of—”

A panel next to one of the benches slid open, and she caught the aroma of food. She jumped up and reached for it, pulling out the tray so quickly the cups sloshed liquid over their sides. Frowning at her own clumsiness, she moved more carefully as she set the tray down on a bench. Food was never to be wasted, even strange food such as this.

She picked up a thin square wafer and started to bite into it. Then some instinct warned her to be careful. She glanced down at Asan’s bruised face, hesitated, and sniffed the wafer suspiciously. It smelled more of chemicals than of the oven. She could barely detect separate ingredients and decided they must be old or taken from long storage. But nothing about it seemed dangerous.

After a moment she nibbled warily on a corner and found the taste flat and without flavor. She made a face and sampled something pale green and crunchy. It had a mild, bittersweet flavor and left her feeling as though she had eaten nothing at all. Carefully dividing half of the food for Asan when he woke up, she ate her portion and forced herself to drink the brown, bitter-tasting liquid in one of the cups, even though she shuddered after she swallowed it.

She lifted Asan’s head and held the other cup to his lips, trying to get him to drink some of it. His lips moved. He swallowed, a trickle of the stuff spilling down his chin, and his eyes fluttered open.

They were a light blue mixed with flecks of amber, jade, and silver. Even unfocused, they brought his face alight. Her breath caught in her throat, and the resentment she had been feeling against him faded away. No matter what he had done to ruin her world, he
was
Asan. She could feel the force radiating from him, the keenness of his intelligence, the strength of his rings, the majesty that he wore so naturally.

Her hand trembled, spilling more of the liquid, and she came back to herself with a start.

“Forgive me,” she said, her words stumbling. “I was trying to give thee a drink, not get thee wet.”

He frowned, his eyes drooping closed, then opening wider. This time they seemed more cognizant. She forced herself to meet them without shyness or evasion. It was like staring into the gaze of a pyr, the winged, fierce lord of the skies, a taloned hunter who could swoop down in a blur of speed and snatch up its prey.

When he said nothing, but simply went on staring at her, Zaula shifted on her knees and moved back from him. “Are thou in pain?” she asked. “Are thou hungry?”

An unreadable expression flickered in his face. He seemed almost to smile. “This is another illusion, right? One more trick, Ramer.”

She drew in a sharp breath and touched his cheek for fever. He wasn’t making sense.

“Does thou not remember me?” she asked, this time with a touch of the old annoyance. “I am Zaula, once leiis before thou killed Hihuan my husband and destroyed Altian my home.”

He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back upon the cushion. Paleness washed through his face. “Was that coffee I tasted? Could I have some more?”

“Coffee?”
She tested the strange word, rolling it along her tongue. “It is not pleasant. Perhaps they use it for medication?”

“No.” He sounded amused.

He lifted his head, and this time she was quick to slide her hand beneath his skull in support. She held the cup to his lips, and he drank deep and thirstily until it was all gone. He seemed to like it.

“Ah,” he said with a deep sigh. “That’s one brew I thought I’d never taste again. Thanks, Ramer.”

“I am Zaula,” she said with fresh alarm.

He lifted his hand and touched her face, throat, and the full roundness of her breast where the coverall fitted too snugly. She pulled herself back, flushing.

Asan let his hand drop onto his stomach. “So you are. I was beginning to be unable to separate hallucinations from reality in there. Help me sit up.”

“Thou shouldn’t—”

He was struggling to do it, wobbling until she gave him assistance. He drew in several deep breaths, winced, and held his side.

“These humans,” said Zaula, moving to face him. “Why did they torture thee? It is not of need—”

“Aural conditioned their minds a little to give them the idea. They think I know where a couple of their people are. They also wanted to know a few other useless things, like the defense capabilities of Ruantl. When I’ve rested here awhile, they’ll probably come for me again.”

“Even the Bban’n are not this cruel,” she said, troubled. “Look.” She pointed overhead. “There are two
n’kai
who call themselves observers. Liebtz and Mike. Are they the ones who have hurt thee?”

“No.” He glanced up at the glass eye, then away quickly. A frown creased his brow. “GSI observers. That means nothing but trouble.”

“They put a medallion of tongues inside my arm,” said Zaula, showing him the tiny pink scar. It was already fading. “I can speak to them. Did they also defile thee?”

He lifted a quick hand to the back of his ear. “No.”

Zaula was surprised that he knew where they usually inserted it. “Thou are wise,” she said, half to herself.

He glanced at her, starting to smile. His eyes held mischief. “No. I just know a lot about humans.”

“Ah.” She lifted her palm. “From the
n’ka
catalyst who raised thee in transference.”

He looked startled. “Er…yes. Let’s not discuss that. Back to these observers. What did they ask you?”

“My name. It is not permitted that
n’kai
be so impertinent, but I am done with Ruantl. I—”

“Is that
all
?”

She stared at him in puzzlement. “Yes. Why?”

“They either got more from me than I thought or else they’re saving you for examination back at Central.”

“Yes,” she said eagerly, glad at last to know what he was talking about. “They said they were going to take me to their home planet. Is this way across the Beyond a path that goes by Tlartantla? It would honor me to see our home.”

He shifted his gaze away from hers. His face grew pensive and sad. After a moment he reached out and traced the tip of one finger across the back of her clenched hand. “Zaula,” he said quietly. “You will never see Tlartantla.”

She stiffened. “Why? Even if the path of this transport lies not in that direction, then someday—”

“No. Forget that dream.” He spread out his hand and held it flat over hers, applying pressure that meant the deepest negative. “The Tlar’n must forget the past. That’s all over.”

“No, it isn’t!” She snatched her hand away. “We will recover the old technologies. It was Picyt and the House of Kkanthor who kept the secrets of machines hidden. But now we have a chance to recover them. We will go back. There is not one Tlar who does not believe that.”

“Zaula, there is no Tlartantla.”

Her head jerked. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Thou lies.”

“It was destroyed. That’s why the Tlar’n came to Ruantl. The little colony here is all that remains.”

“No.”

“Yes. Aural, Vauzier, Rim, and I were the last to leave. We saw it die, Zaula. We cannot go back there. Ever. We can find other worlds if we choose, better worlds easier to inhabit. By this time the radiation levels should be low enough for us to search the skeletons of our empire…”

His deep voice, which had grown even deeper and more resonant as he spoke, trailed off. There was silence for a long moment. Zaula could hear her own breath sawing raggedly in and out of her lungs. She did not believe it, could not believe it. From infancy she had been taught about their home. The racial memories of soft rain showers and fragrant flower meadows stirred her dreams sometimes. She felt something precious dry up and crumble inside her.

When she looked up again, her eyes stung. “Thou are the Leiil Asan, father of our fathers, the Great One of legend who led our ancestors to victory in the Duoden Conflict.”

His head bowed at the formal words. “Sometimes victory has too great a price.”

“Thou were supposed to protect us, to lead us home, to teach us the ways we have lost,” she went on, ignoring him. “Instead, thou has destroyed everything. Thou took Anthi. Thou freed the Bban horde. Thou turned Altian into a smoking ruin. Thou brought the
n’kai
here. Now thou has taken even our soul, the dream we learned to live on. Get away!” she said, flinching back as he reached for her. “I will hear no more. It was wrong of thee to come back to us from the shadow land of Merdar. What little we had was better without thee!”

And with a bitter sob she turned away from him.

He sighed. “Sometimes you have to be hurt in order to grow, Zaula. Sometimes you have to tear down things in order to build. I am not finished with Ruantl. It’s not going to belong to the GSI. No matter what I have to do, I promise you that.”

She did not listen to him. What kind of promise was that? A worthless waste of breath upon the air.

Two steps across…two steps back. Asan paced back and forth across the narrow end of the cell. The
Dorian Grey
was larger than the little corvette
Spitfire
he’d commandeered. Big enough to have room for a minuscule brig and a TANK. Damn that thing; he’d been out of it for hours now. How long were they going to make him wait before they took him back?

His frown deepened with scorn. Ramer had battered him without much success. Now he was trying to play mind games. That was foolish, especially since Ramer didn’t strike him as one who had enough xenobiological training to be able to crack open alien psychology.

Beautiful first contact work, men
, he thought.
Typical GSI heavy-handedness. Submit to us and adopt the GSI creed or die
.

He had to break out of here. He was sore still, but his legs were working now and the rest of him felt able enough. He’d devoured the portion of food Zaula had saved for him, stared at her a moment, then slid open a second wall panel and removed another tray as generously laden as the first. Zaula, her eyes wide, had watched him eat. But when he offered to share, she turned down her palm and averted her gaze. She still wasn’t speaking to him. He didn’t mind. He had enough to think about without letting himself be distracted by a woman whose beauty sang through his bones every time he glanced at her.

They weren’t still in orbit around Ruantl. Subtle changes in the ship’s vibrations told him when they pulled out and set course. Zaula had screamed when they went into implosion drive.

“It’s all right,” he said, putting an arm around her.

For a moment she clung to him, her body soft and delicious, her fear making her shudder.

“But something’s wrong. The pattern of wholeness has been broken. We’ll die—”

“Hush. We’re fine,” he said soothingly. Desire for her and an odd sense of protectiveness entwined through him. The softness of her hair brushed his chin, and he inhaled its clean fragrance. She wore none of the cloying perfumes usually favored by Tlar women. The simplicity made her seem exotic. And her plain coverall added to her allure in an unexpected way.