The Fall Page 16

  “I—” Marianne cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t go that far, but Monralar is your bond-partner’s ally. I can understand how you’d feel that way.”

  * * *

  Of the guards Father had sent, Caradyn offered the most vigorous challenge to defeat while sparring. Farric dodged a kick and spun, trying to get behind him, but the guard anticipated his move and turned, at the same time blocking with painful force Farric’s attempt to touch his neck. The watching guards murmured approval.

  The door chimed. Caradyn’s attention wavered, and Farric dropped to the floor to sweep the peds from under him. The guard landed on his belly with a grunt just as the door slid open, revealing Bertie. The human flared with sudden interest at the spectacle.

  “Did I come at a bad time?” Bertie asked.

  Farric chuckled. “No, my friend.” He caught the human-style hand towel a guard tossed toward him to wipe the sweat from his face, giving a nod to Caradyn, who got his peds under him and bowed. A servant offered Farric a glass cylinder of cold water. He swallowed half its contents and threw himself into a chair before speaking again. “You merely captured me sparring,” he finished, then downed the rest of the water and handed the cylinder back to the servant.

  Bertie sprawled across a divan. “Martial arts? I’ve some experience with our human forms of it. If you’re interested, we could exchange techniques.”

  A guard—it might have been Caradyn—cleared his throat.

  “Another time, perhaps,” Farric said. “What brought you here today?”

  “Right.” Bertie straightened. “Good news, actually. I showed Tachibana the images of Monrali ceramics and ornamental metalwork. It turns out he’s a collector with a fine awareness of the current market. He’s on board.”

  “A human investor this time?”

  “Yes, but he comes from a rogue business family that fled to the V’kri worlds during the corporate wars. They haven’t held Six Planets citizenship for generations.”

  “And therefore Central Command has no influence on them.”

  “Precisely. He wants to put a company man on the station, of course. Question is—” Bertie leaned forward “—would the restriction on humans apply in his case?”

  Farric rubbed his chin. “My father intends to lift the interdict.”

  “If he succeeds in acquiring planetary leadership, and I hope he does, for all our sakes. But you realize that the uncertainties in your planet’s political situation make my job harder?”

  “There will be a station. There will be trade. It is inevitable, regardless of who leads.”

  Bertie emitted a loud sigh. “You people and your… loose relationship with time.”

  “Come. Have some tea while I bathe, and then I have quest—” Ripples of empathic disturbance outside the apartment riveted Farric’s attention. Caradyn emerged from the bathing area, still fastening his robe, and the other guards cut off their conversations and came to ready stances. Two moved across the sitting room to flank Farric.

  “Was it something I said?” Bertie asked, his head swiveling to look from guard to guard.

  Farric raised a hand for quiet. Caradyn rolled his shoulders and took up a position along the wall to the corridor, where he could not be seen from the door, and gestured for another guard to join him.

  The door chime sounded. Farric stood to face it. Bertie, too, got to his feet, radiating confusion, but he shifted his balance forward, assuming something very like the guards’ alert postures. A demonstration of human fighting techniques might prove educational, after all.

  “Open,” Farric said.

  The door slid to one side, revealing Earth’s Ambassador to the Trade Alliance, Christian Armstrong Connelly, wearing the gray of his official capacity... and a Den focus led by two of its builders. Surprise erupted from Bertie.

  Builders were a common site on the station, providing essential services and security. Immensely strong and nearly as quick as Terosha, the Den shared the basic shape called humanoid but lacked the implied resemblance to humans. The head, shaped like an inverted teardrop, consisted entirely of one large optical organ; what functioned as a brain rested below it, within the torso. Two legs bent backwards, like a flutter’s, and the two arms possessed too many joints and ended in hands with only three fingers, one of them opposing the other two. Their skin, however, lent them a fantastic beauty—thin, covered over most of its surface with tiny, iridescent scales, and capable of a range of independent movement.

  The foci, unlike the builders, could neither see, speak, nor hear, and they depended upon touch with builders to communicate. Eight translucent membranes grew from their backs like flutter wings, waving gently in the air, their purpose unknown to anyone outside their race. The only focus known to be present on Capella Free Station was the owner. It stood with its arms and hands linked with each of its companions.

  Farric bowed to the focus and addressed it in English. “I must admit to confusion that you should come to the mere ambassador of a non-member world, honored ascendant. Have I or one of my party offended your soul?”

  As he spoke, the builders’ hands moved on their focus’ skin. Its membranes rustled, a dry, skin-on-skin sound.

  “No,” said a builder. Its voice issued from the base of its head. “You are pure.”

  “We bring news of offense against your people, Ambassador of Tolar,” said the other.

  Ice glided down his spine. Offense against my people. That could mean anything from a public insult to an attack on his planet. He extended his senses. The Den were unreadable, and the human ambassador a mass of contradictory emotions. He counted his companions. Where was—

  “I regret to inform you of a serious incident,” Connelly said. His voice flowed over the words, smooth from long training. “A number of individuals involved in organized crime apparently came across your medical officer in the wrong place at the wrong time. Station security and our own operatives responded within minutes, of course, but we didn’t get there before they did their worst.”

  “What did they do to him?” Farric asked.

  “He means they killed him,” Bertie said.

  “Killed?” Farric swiveled to stare at Bertie. “Are you certain?”

  His friend nodded, grim-faced.

  He turned back to Connelly. “Is this true?”

  “I’m afraid so. Earth offers its deepest condolences for your loss.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “The morgue in the human sector.” The human pasted a sympathetic smile on his face which did not match his internal landscape. “Given the low level of medical technology your people possess, it’s under quarantine while we determine what, if any, pathogens it might harbor. You’ll get it back when we’re sure it’s safe, of course. We’ll do everything we reasonably can to provide what you need in the way of funeral arrangements.”

  Farric signaled to the guard beside the door, who tilted his head toward Caradyn. They both camouflaged and slipped out the door behind the visitors.

  “We sorrow,” the Den said.

  “We sorrow most deeply that such an offense should occur against a protected guest in our domain.”

  “It stains—”

  “—our soul.”

  “You have my deepest sympathies,” Ambassador Connelly said. “We regret that humans were involved, of course.”

  Bertie stirred, but said nothing.

  Farric closed his eyes, stunned. The apothecary… gone? Who would harm a healer? He pushed down the swelling grief and opened his eyes.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said, to stop himself thinking.

  “The Tolari apothecary and the human physician exchanged friendship,” the Den began.

  Farric nodded. That much he knew.

  “They conversed for mutual enrichment within the boundaries of the Earth flora park in the human sector, where the criminals concealed themselves.”

  “The criminals took them both.”

  “The soul of the apothecary
fled.”

  Farric blinked. He walked into the dark. And the Den could sense it—but what had prompted the healer to take such an action? He pulled himself out of his thoughts when the ambassador spoke.

  “Our man, Dr. Rangarajan, will recover, I’m happy to say. It looks like a mugging gone awry, but I suggest you increase your security until we can rule out any possibility that the Restored Triads have taken an interest in you.” He took out a tablet and busied himself with it for a moment. “I’ll have my secretary forward the names of some reliable people.”

  The Den focus rustled its membranes and puffed.

  “No,” a builder said.

  “We will provide.”

  “We would also grant you a service.”

  “Does your soul have need?”

  Farric leapt at the opportunity before Connelly could speak. “Communication,” he answered. “I wish to speak with the human physician, when he can receive visitors.”

  “We—”

  “—agree.”

  “I give you gratitude, honored ascendant.”

  The human ambassador’s face expressed none of the sudden alarm he emitted. “That’s subject, of course, to his doctor’s consent,” he said. “We mustn’t set back his recovery. Anything else you need, don’t hesitate to contact the embassy.” He pocketed the tablet. “We’re investigating the incident in conjunction with the Den. I’ll keep you apprised of developments.”

  The builders turned the focus. Before they reached the door, it opened, and Caradyn entered, almost unrecognizable in an ill-fitting human uniform of dark blue, gripping the front of a wheeled litter of some kind. The other guard, also clad in human clothing the same color, pushed it from the rear. On it lay a black sack showing the outline of a body.

  A tiny smile appeared on Bertie’s face.

  Connelly’s reflected bewildered surprise. “What have you done?” he asked.

  “It appears they retrieved their fallen comrade,” Bertie replied.

  “Indeed,” Farric said. In Monrali, he continued, “The servants will wash and prepare him. Aid them.”

  The guards murmured acknowledgment and disappeared into their arena room.

  “That body could be dangerous,” Connelly exclaimed. “You can’t do this!”

  Farric locked eyes with the man. “Oh, can I not?”

  “This station is ours,” said the Den.

  “You may not interfere with the affairs of other races.”

  Connelly pasted another insincere smile on his face. “Of course, I apologize for forgetting myself. The offer of aid stands. If you need anything for your funeral rites, please let the embassy know. We’ll do anything we can.”

  The builders led their focus out the still-open door. Connelly followed.

  When the door swished shut behind them, Bertie muttered, “I’ll just bet you will.” He turned to Farric. “You can use the comms in my office to inform your people.”

  “No,” Farric replied, shaking his head. “I will tell Father when I return home.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise? What about the family?”

  “Teylis has—” he compressed his lips briefly “—had no family, and Father… It would serve only to increase my father’s doubt in me.”

  Bertie grunted, his presence coloring with a grim kind of sympathy. “I can’t say I’m glad to see some things remain the same across cultures.”

  * * *

  CCS-211-2719

  TO: Adeline Pearson Russell, Office of Field Operations, Central Security Headquarters, Tau Ceti Station

  Regret to report mission failure. Await further orders.

  (no signature)

  * * *

  In the humans’ infirmary, Farric peered through the open door into the room where the injured physician lay recovering. A small, thin man with very dark skin, he lay on his back under a white sheet on a narrow bed, reading from a tablet in one hand and writing on a rectangular pad suspended above his chest. As Farric stepped in, the human lifted a head topped with curled, outcast-short black hair. A curve of white teeth flashed, and he put aside tablet and stylus to press his palms together under his chin.

  “Namaste,” he said, then continued in musical English. “You must be the Tolari ambassador I am hearing so much about. I am so very sorry.” His eyes glistened. “He was a good man, your Teylis. A good friend, for the short time I knew him.”

  “Indeed,” Farric replied. He bowed. “I am Farric, heir to Monralar, Tolar’s Ambassador to the Trade Alliance. I came to speak with you about the attack, Dr. Rangarajan.”

  “Please, call me Darpan. It is my personal name.”

  “Darpan.” Farric pulled up a chair next to the bed and lowered himself into it. “I am told you recover faster than expected.”

  “The doctors here act like old women. I would be on my feet—or at least sitting up—if they listened to me. But that isn’t what you came to hear. What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me everything that happened.”

  “We decided to take a walk in the park. I have a keen interest in botany, you see, and I only became a physician because my parents required it of me. Teylis had expressed an interest in the medicinal properties of our Earth plants, and I wanted to show him the community garden where I grow a few herbs.” Darpan’s eyes grew distant. “We did not make it that far. Halfway across the park, where the trees and bushes are thickest, Teylis stopped and looked around, and then five men jumped us.” He wiped at his eyes with a corner of the sheet covering him.

  “And then?” Farric asked, gently.

  “I yelled for help, and one of them hit me in the solar plexus—that’s right here—” he pointed at a spot in his midsection “—to shut me up. Very effective, I must say. When I could catch my breath again, I looked up at Teylis, and he wasn’t struggling, just letting the thugs pin his arms behind his back, and he said, ‘I believe we have been captured.’ Then he closed his eyes and collapsed, like—like he was a puppet, and someone cut his strings. I thought he had passed out.

  “They beat me after that, with sticks, until I lost consciousness.” He offered a sad smile through his tears. “I wish I could tell you more, but that is all I can remember. I woke up here, and they told me Teylis is dead. I am so very sorry.” Tears rolled down the sides of his head into his hair.

  Farric leaned forward, elbows on his knees and fingers laced, and let the break in the conversation lengthen.

  “I can tell you something else,” Darpan said, suddenly. “Those men—I am thinking the men who attacked us were not really Triads brothers.”

  “The organized criminals?” Farric straightened. “On what do you base this thought?”

  “Triads brothers are very good at what they do. Trust me, I have seen their handiwork in my emergency department many times. They know how to cause the most pain for the least damage, and they can make it last as long as they want. The men who beat me and killed Teylis, they tried to act like Triads, but they were sloppy.” He shrugged. “Maybe they sent inexperienced men after us, but I do not think so.”

  * * *

  Laura peered through the astronomical viewer—a telescope, to all intents and purposes, but a small one. It did little more than make Earth’s sun, an unremarkable point of light in Tolar’s night sky, a little bigger and a little brighter, but it was better than the naked eye. The Paran sat behind her, huddled on top of one blanket and under another. She grinned despite herself, but his mood was too grim tonight to poke fun at him.

  She lifted her face from the eyepiece. “Is it really that bad?” she asked.

  “Several more of my coalition have joined with Monralar,” he said. “He lacks three to achieve a majority.”

  Laura winced. “He would have the Sural’s job if it weren’t for the Sural, wouldn’t he?”

  “Very likely. Even the Sural admires Monralar’s cleverness.”

  “I thought they hated each other.”

  “They do.”

  She eased her
swelling body onto the blanket beside him. “At least Central Command hasn’t shown up demanding an explanation. Farric must be doing something right.”

  “The heir to Monralar is formidable of himself—another reason their coalition grows.” He shook his head. “Monralar’s actions would likely win him the caste leadership in a time of conventional rule, but to challenge the Sural’s authority and grow the coalition opposed to him gains the Monral nothing now. Even should he gain the majority he seeks, the Jorann has never deposed one of her grandchildren.”

  “Maybe he thinks there’s a first time for everything.”

  The Paran lifted an eyebrow.

  “I’ve seen any number of men like him, over the years. If he didn’t think he could change things, he wouldn’t be trying. He’d be causing other kinds of trouble instead. If I could meet him in person, run into him somewhere, I might be able to tell.”

  “He is a bonded ruler with no reason to leave his province.”

  Laura tapped her lips with an index finger. Bonded rulers. Why did he have to be a bonded ruler? Bonded—a bonded ruler. Her eyes widened. “He’s pair-bonded, isn’t he? And isn’t his bond-partner a sensitive? It would make sense for me to ask another sensitive for help with all this. It’s getting better, but it can still be overwhelming sometimes. Enough to be a good reason to go to Monralar to learn from his bond-partner—and incidentally to meet him, find out how far he can be trusted.”

  A chill breeze picked up, and the Paran shivered. Laura snuggled closer, lending him some of her body heat.

  “Monralar is an ally, and you would be safe visiting Sharana, but…” He grimaced.

  “But?”

  “Wandering laborers returning from Monralar report that Sharana no longer lives in his stronghold, but has moved into the city.”

  “What?” Laura straightened. “How can that be? Marianne told me bonded couples can’t live apart.”

  “Not easily, no, and they will not be able to stay apart more than a season, perhaps two. If the rumors are true, and she has fled his presence, he must win her back before her absence destabilizes him.”

  “How awful for them.”

  “Indeed. But we have still a ten of days before winter stops the great game for the year. Much can happen in that time.”