Tethered (2 page)

Uncertainty twisted her stomach, and she mocked her own fears. What could a crippled Terran man do to a Su assassin anyway?

“I won’t be Tethered?” Terrans had a method to secure Inc-Su, preventing them from Misting out.

G’vorek laughed. “No. You’ll have diplomatic immunity, if nothing else. Besides, how much protection could you be if we allowed them to Tether you? No.”

Tyree sighed. She couldn’t refuse anyway. “I’ll go pack. Then I’ll go to the debriefing.”

G’vorek nodded. “That’s my fidget.”

“G’vorek?”

“Yes?”

“What was so odd about my kin group?”

Was that fear warping the wrinkles on his face? At over three centuries old, time had made his expression almost unreadable except to those who knew him well.

“You were not cloned from a single council member.”

“Then from where?”

“An Inc-Su pairing.”

“What?” Tyree couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d said her brood group had spontaneously created itself. “But Inc-Su don’t breed. Why would they?”

“Cloning may have been the established method for over six centuries, but once upon a time we were human too.” He touched her hand again, and she shuddered. “You might do well to remember that on your assignment.” He turned his chair and hovered away.

“Wait!” she called, but he didn’t stop. “But who were they? Who were my parents?”
And why didn’t anyone ever tell us?

Chapter Two

Tyree crouched amongst the cargo containers, the metal casings chilling her skin even though she never touched them. The air reeked with the throat-burning, eye-watering stench of vented exhaust fumes. She kept her breaths shallow and through her nose, but still it dried out her mouth and left an acrid tang. Held ready for departure in its slingshot cradle, the transport craft had a battered, pock-marked titanium hull stained black and green. Although it had no signs of previous hull breeches or patchwork repairs to its outer skin, the prospect of trusting herself to it sent quivers through her gut.

But this was the best way—the only way—to get to the
Seclusion
, the fortified space station where D’joren was secured.
The attacks on the delegates meant there was, or had been, a security leak somewhere. Rather than trust the Terrans to smuggle her aboard, she had elected to do it herself.

Of course, the transport was protected against Inc-Su invasion. Any craft traveling to the
Seclusion
would be resistant to her kind. She couldn’t just Mist and steal aboard, even though she’d been able to get past the high-level, but human, defenses guarding the dock. Getting onto the transport itself would require old-fashioned sneaking.

A heady cocktail of excitement and adrenaline flooded her nerves, but combat mode held her steady. This was a task more suited to her talents, and the pleasure she gained from it felt almost auric. She scanned the containers on the far side of the bay beneath the open cargo doors.

Look for a casket marked with our symbol.

Before issuing his last instruction, G’vorek had squeezed her shoulder in a fatherly gesture that had worried her more than her mission. Despite the sign of affection, he’d still refused to tell her about her parents, and she’d been afraid to press for more. However brazen she might be in most other ways, one did not question the Fathers and Mothers of the council.

There.

A double circle—one with an arrow, the other with a cross—caught her sharp gaze. She sidled her way between the containers, and then Misted to slip inside. The metal exterior resisted her passage and chilled her further as she slid through. It had been made Su-proof then deliberately weakened—enough to pass the customary safety scan but not too much to shift through. Even so, her insides felt scraped and bruised when she reformed into her solid self. The casket was barely big enough to hold her rangy body—a padded coffin that enclosed her snuggly. It was warm, with an oxygen feed and a dim light source should she feel the need for it.

Tyree settled herself on her back, fidgeting until she was relatively comfortable. The journey would only take a few hours, but her stomach clenched at the prospect of space travel. Warp drive ships terrified her in a way no human or weapon could. Even the knowledge that this transport would use a gate instead of navigating through warp space didn’t console her much. Ships could still get lost going faster than light, never to be seen again.

She slowed her breathing and heartbeat, pushing herself into dormant mode. The trip would pass far quicker in that trance-like state, and should sync her body clock to standard Terran time on the
Seclusion.

***

Her mind drifted as her body flashed through warp space.

Mirsee
.

Flawed Su. Terran co-delegate and bondmate to Zander D’joren. All through her debriefing, the hologram had stared at Tyree as it hovered above the data pad, the face a perfect mirror of her own. As she expected it to be. Her long, straight black hair was worn differently, of course, and her expression far more placid than Tyree had felt at that moment, but essentially her double in all respects. Blue-eyed, black-skinned, a narrow face with a pointed chin, high arching eyebrows and a broad, curving forehead. The only fascination now was the knowledge that both she and her deceased twin came from bonded Inc-Su parents rather than a single entity. Could she see either of those unknown parents in their shared face if she stared hard enough? Unlikely. The majority of Inc-Su were similar in form—tall and lanky, with slight variations in coloring—as all those in Refuge were cloned from the thirteen council members. The only thing she could be reasonably sure of was she wasn’t one of M’roc’s grouping. She’d seen those around before and they were unmistakable with their heavier build, brown eyes, and caramel skin.

Of the remaining twelve, there was little to distinguish between them. The passage of time had wiped all distinctive features and color tones from the faces of G’vorek, Tawn, and Shivis—the three most ancient—leaving them gray and wrinkled. Tyree could potentially be from any dual combination of them, although sallow-skinned, brown-eyed Pexie or white-faced and diminutive Mishkel paired to one of the more common ancestors seemed unlikely.

Concentrate on the mission...

She pulled herself away from idle musing. The process of renegotiation took an entire Tier-vane solar year—nine months in Terran time. Within moments of the official ceremony to inaugurate the two human delegates—synchronized to the exact same ceremony among the Tier for their own diplomats—a sniper had taken out three members of the delegates’ entourage and injured D’joren before being eliminated. The assassin had been human, of course. No Inc-Su would have failed so dismally, and with unnecessary casualties to boot.

Barely a month later, a bio-weapon had been released into D’joren’s household, killing most of the staff. Both delegates had been absent at the time.

Idiots,
Tyree sneered inwardly.

That perpetrator had never even been identified, but they wouldn’t have been Inc-Su, either. None of her kin were that sloppy. They certainly wouldn’t have resorted to a filthy bio-weapon, not with all the risks of cross-contamination it entailed. So who
had
ordered the attempts?

Human extremists? They were an urban legend, and even if some human group wanted the treaty ended, a war against a superior force was insane. Not that it would necessarily stop someone from trying it.

What about the Tier-vane themselves? Their military had raised a protest over the last negotiation, but the treaty had still gone through, perpetuating another century of peace. If they were so against the treaty, then why all the preparation for renewal?

And now, this final attempt. She’d been shocked to discover it had taken place six months ago. The delegates’ ground car had been attacked in transit. Tracker mines had followed the craft and snuck in under the defenses, attaching themselves to the car faster than security could pick them off. Three had exploded in total. Both humans had been severely injured, but because of their status were rushed to a nearby military stronghold rather than a medical center. When it became clear Mirsee was unlikely to survive her injuries, they’d gone into security lockdown and the condition of both delegates kept secret. Mirsee had died, though D’joren hadn’t known until days later when he regained consciousness himself. As a diplomat, he had understood the situation, though she couldn’t imagine what it had cost him.

The Terran Assembly, in a panic over the whole affair, had supposedly whisked both delegates to the
Seclusion
and were maintaining the illusion that both were injured, but recovering, as they desperately tried to come up with a solution. That solution was her.

The select few already placed on the
Seclusion
knew about the planned deception. Tyree would be smuggled aboard, and she and D’joren would spend a few days getting to know each other and perfecting their act. They would reappear in public for the official reinstatement as co-delegates before transportation to the neutral meeting zone between the Territories of the Galactic Commission and the systems of the Tier for a pre-treaty introduction to their Tier-vane associates.

But did they really think she could pull this off? This wasn’t anything like the jobs she was used to. While supremely confident of her abilities as an assassin, she seriously doubted her capabilities as an actress.

Then there was D’joren himself. His file listed him as in his fourth decade. Humans didn’t live as long as Inc-Su, but that still only put him in his first quarter, while her thirty years made her a relative teenager in comparison. An impressive list of commendations, both as a G-Comm Warden and in the diplomatic corps, dominated his file, with few interests outside his career even being touched upon. But there was no description or picture in his file. That struck an off chord. Sure, he wasn’t a target so she couldn’t expect his file to be like those she normally received, but why no image?

First impressions count. Maybe he wants to see how I react?

No doubt his many skills would include accurately assessing someone on their first meeting.
Unless he’s so hideous he thought I might pass on the mission?

She considered that. Of the fourteen targets she had been assigned, most had been male and not particularly attractive. Not that it bothered her. Both the physical and auric release during sex were a bonus in her profession, and that was all that counted, although she had to admit to taking her time more with those she had found handsome in some way. Her last assignment had been devastatingly gorgeous and extremely skilled, in his fashion, but it still hadn’t earned him a reprieve.

Not that it will make any difference. I am
not
going to sleep with D’joren.

She’d had the odd lover among the Inc-Su during her quieter periods when the physical need for sex outweighed her natural aversion to her own kind. After all, Inc-Su didn’t need to breed. They were deliberately sterile, and immune to any of the possible infections transmitted by exchange of bodily fluids: a necessary defense in her profession. But sex with her own kind was a completely different experience, where auras were shared, not taken.

What had it been like for D’joren with his Su mate? It was possible for a human and Inc-Su to have sex without it killing. She’d never tried it herself, other than to practice and intensify her control of her abilities, and to prolong the experience for herself. What would it be like?

Sudden heat coursed through her veins and pooled in her abdomen, shaking her from dormancy. Mentally, she slapped herself and pushed back under. She wasn’t going to take Mirsee’s place in his bed, no matter what. She’d agreed to act the part and be his bodyguard, but that was all.

***

Bright light burst across her vision, and a breath of cold air huffed over her skin. She shivered.

“Are you well, lady?” The husky feminine voice sounded nervous. Most humans finding a Su in their delivery would’ve probably run screaming or died of fright on the spot.

Tyree drew a long, deep breath, shaking off her dormancy. “I think so. And you are?”

“Visaya, lady.”

Well, that was to plan. At least she’d made it to the right place and person.

Tyree levered herself out of her padded cocoon. Visaya stood beside it; a tiny woman with golden-tinted skin, dark almond-shaped eyes that slanted, and a snub nose. Her long black hair had been gathered up into ornate braids around her head, as though sculpted from jet.

Tyree tried to wriggle her legs from the padding at the end of her casket, but when that failed she simply Misted them out and floated through the coffin and the trolley it rested upon. The sudden widening of Visaya’s eyes and her step back told Tyree she’d made a mistake. Mirsee wouldn’t have been able to do that. And few humans who witnessed it lived to tell the tale about that particular ability.

“Sorry,” she said to the woman. “Sometimes I forget myself.”

“No matter, lady.” Visaya inclined her head. “But please do not attempt that in public.”

Ouch.

Chastened, Tyree smoothed down her Su shift. “Well, I guess we should get started. Where’s D’joren?”

“The master asked me to attend to you. He hopes to meet you shortly, but felt that we should start with your preparations.”

So he’s blown me off on the first meeting?

Irritation prickled down her back, but that was hardly Visaya’s fault. “And these preparations involve?”

“Your hair and clothing. The master felt we should begin as we mean to go on. I will arrange your clothing and your hair for you each day. I am to give you every assistance.”

Tyree made a noise of disgust. The prospect was as appealing as eating raw fish guts. As long as she was clean and decently attired, as prescribed by the Rules of Decorum, and her hair didn’t get in her way, she was done. She’d never seen the point of the extravagant lengths some people went to, but if it was necessary... “Let’s get on with it then.”