THE GERRYMANDER
“Assassin takes king of spades. King of hearts to edifice, queen of hearts to crown, king of clubs to ascendant,” the computer droned as it made its move. The duty officer winced visibly as his king was toppled from the peak of the pyramid.
Lyte did not allow his smile to reach his face. The computer’s programming for edifice was elementary, and it played scarcely at an intermediate level. Knocking off the edifice card in the second round merely to introduce a pretender in the last tier was poor strategy—but then computers had trouble with edifice strategy. It was too erratic a game for a machine, a fact that kept living, breathing dealers all over the republic in constant demand. Although this move put the computer’s high card into the heir’s position, it placed Lyte at edifice and ascendant—strong positions so early in the game. The duty officer, whose name Lyte did not remember, was in trouble.
Of course, the idiot had probably figured out his error two days ago, after the first three-hour session of cards. His anticipated “easy” opponent had turned out to be a professional gambler. Fortunately for Lyte, the man was too proud to admit he was overmatched, and the equivalent of a fourteenday’s pay glittered on the divider between them. Lyte’s sympathy had dimmed long ago—the officer was arrogant, almost contemptuous of his two passengers. I would cheat to beat you, fool. If the Nualans hired you to prove they don’t discriminate against non-Nualans, they went too far....
The 3AV hologram to his right winked at him, drawing his attention. It was frozen in its hold mode, waiting for instructions. Allowing himself a languid stretch, Lyte punched the promotion tape back to its beginning. Noticing his distraction, the duty officer visibly searched for a good move, his nostrils twitching in agitation. Lyte wasn’t worried; he probably didn’t have a good move. Time to finish this hand and start another; he was getting bored, and that shouldn’t happen in edifice.
“Pass,” the man finally said, his nostrils now fluttering frantically. The contrast of his nervous tic with his excessively thin face was laughable, but Lyte controlled himself as he requested another card. Jack of pretenders—not worth much. He slid it under his other card.
All hail the biggest pretender of all, he thought wryly as the computer bumped his pawn pretender and slid the king of diamonds into the bottom tier. Four cards now computer controlled—time for an assassin card to turn up. I am the pretender, the biggest pretender. Gods, Moran, hasn’t it occurred to you once that I’ve previously avoided Nuala like a plague? That I’d stay on base and hustle dice before I’d take my leave there, even with you? Gods, you’d be lousy in the tratores—they’d read you like a signpost and take everything you had.
The tape began once again. Lyte watched it with one eye, his professional card sense taking over the game. He’d memorized this tape, of course, as he had all the others, but they had not told him enough. Even Moran couldn’t really tell him enough. After all, the man was smitten by that Nualan princess, incapable of remembering the terror the word Nuala conjured. “If you ever were afraid ...” Lyte muttered aloud.
“What?” The duty officer jerked, as if startled.
“Nothing,” Lyte said, wondering if the little man was trying to figure out a way to cheat. Damn, why did the Axis tapes have so little information about Nuala? As if the Axis tried to forget the colony existed. And this was basically an assignment; he couldn’t afford gaps in his knowledge. Moran had been forthcoming but simply hadn’t understood his friend’s concern. Lyte glanced away from the 3AV toward his dozing partner. Moran always looked very peaceful when he slept, his smooth, classic features more appropriate for an artist or an entertainer than for a warrior of the Axis Forces. But his temper never showed through when he slept. Years ago, before Moran had taken classes in control, Lyte had seen his friend almost kill a man with nothing but his hands. Moran had learned the reason for his outbursts, and his temper rarely showed through; but unlike others, Lyte never made the mistake of thinking this tranquil, soft-spoken individual was an easy mark. Not since you pounded me into the ground for that prank I arranged on your twelfth birthday.
“‘My other half, dark to my light, but I am the darker brother,’” Lyte quoted, running his fingers through his own silver hair to straighten it.
“Are you playing or not?” the duty officer snapped.
“Are you passing?” Lyte responded mildly, fixing the man with a frost-tipped gaze.
“I passed.” It was muttered—they were playing strict edifice, which meant no discard, only three cards maximum. He was probably holding pawns and jacks.
Lyte drew a card. Another jack; gods, was the deck rigged? Maybe after two days of losses the guy was getting desperate.
The computer chose to draw and apparently didn’t like its card. “Pretender queen removes jack of diamonds, pawn of hearts enters,” it droned. The duty officer could not control a strangled gasp. The jack had been his last card in the pyramid.
“Can you do anything?” Lyte asked, ready to toss in his cards.
The man tossed his onto the small pile in disgust, punching the machine for another game. Lyte raked the cubiz to his side of the seat separator. Nearly five hundred cubiz—yes, this was close to a duty officer’s salary.
“Double or nothing?” the man suggested quickly.
“Where’s your stake?” Lyte countered. The man reached for the computer keys, and Lyte added, “Cubiz only. No credits.”
“A regular game, then.” The other sighed, sneaking a glance at Moran as he pulled out a handful of cubes. Lyte could not help but smile—the fool had actually nudged Moran awake once to cut off a game he was losing. Not this time. He was too far away....
Lyte watched without comment as the computer once more dealt the cards, sliding them across the smooth seat separator with precision. The duty officer’s face lit with pleasure, and he placed his first card, the queen of diamonds, at the edifice spot. Grimly amused, Lyte placed his king of clubs directly below and to the right, in the heir apparent position. The computer took ascendant with the king of hearts, and then Lyte lost interest.
Nuala. He was going to Nuala, the enigma of the stellar system, the only populated radioactive wasteland, the—Stop it, fool. His unease surprised him; he had visited many dangerous planets in his time. Perhaps it was knowing that Moran intended to marry one of the natives. Or maybe it’s because an assassin stalks us ... and I fear to find out who did the hiring....
“Where do I get the radiation pills I have to take?” Lyte casually asked the duty officer. Startled, the man looked up from the board. Lyte gave the cards a glance; he’d probably assassinate the computer’s king of hearts, moving his king to the ascendant position.
“Pills? You’re staying?” The tone was incredulous.
“Of course not. I always take my vacations on transport ships.”
It took the duty officer several moments to realize Lyte was being sarcastic. The man slowly flushed. “We rarely carry non-Nualans.... They change you—the pills, I mean. So the food won’t make you sick. I’ve never taken them, I eat ship food. But whoever meets your party will probably bring them. Your hotel guide or embassy rep.” The man dropped the ace of diamonds on the computer’s king and slid still another king into the tier.
“Assassin takes king of hearts. King of spades ascendant, king of diamonds enters,” the computer announced.
So someone from the palace would bring the pills to him. He decided not to mention their connections—apparently this ship had never carried Moran to Nuala. He studied the board. The duty officer had four of the seven slots. Time to shake him a bit. Lyte pulled out his ace.
“Assassin takes king of spades, queen of clubs to ascendant, jack of pretenders enters.” This time Lye allowed himself a slight smile. The guy would go crazy trying to figure out why he didn’t take the edifice. The hand was young....
“They say if you take the pills five days, you’re safe. Unless you get injured while on the planet or something. But I guess they have good doctors there—they should. People don’t die from rav anymore,” the duty officer murmured, still studying the board.
“Rav is radiation poisoning by ingestion?” Lyte asked, his fingers toying with his final card. He had heard all this, of course, but he was interested in the officer’s perspective. He worked with Nualans; his prejudices might be enlightening.
“It’s when you eat their food without building up to it first. Don’t eat the meat,” he added. The nostrils started twitching again. That jack of pretenders had him worried—an assassin in disguise?
“Ingestion. Are the pills metered doses of radiation?” Lyte went on, probing.
“No, I think it changes your immune system somehow, so it likes the radiation instead of fighting it. Only Dielaan radiation, though—not ultraviolet or plutonium or anything. I guess it changes you permanently. People only take the series once.” Sighing, he drew a card. “Pass.”
Lyte also drew. Another ace—good. “Pass. Are they good for the radiation in the air ... and the people?”
The man’s sudden laugh was slightly derisive. “You’ll be two days by boat from any bad area and from the irradiated colonists. Don’t lose sweat over it.”
“Boat?” Lyte had not found any references to boats. In fact, the hot city, Tolis, had scarcely been mentioned at all.
“The hot city is so hot normal metals don’t survive there, and even Nualan stone gets gritty and pebbly on the surface. Why hook them into the rail system? Who’d go to visit? And water travel is cheap—they don’t want to bother with a transport system. The land is fragile, I’ve heard.” He drew. “Pass.”
Lyte pounced, both hands moving with precision.
“Jack of pretenders turns assassin, king of diamonds falls,” the computer droned. “Queen of pretenders enters.”
The man’s jaw dropped. Lyte heard Moran chuckle—how long had he been awake?
Afraid the man would stop talking, Lyte smoothly asked, “Why haven’t you taken the series?”
Composing himself, the duty officer leaned back in his seat. “If I took the series, I might get assigned to the terminal there. Since I don’t want to take the pills, they won’t force me, so I don’t get ground assignment.” He seemed smug about the situation. “They aren’t pushy, the Nualans, I’ll say that for them.” He studied the remaining vacant spot in the pyramid, planning a strategy.
“People always say metals don’t survive on Nuala. Any kind of metal? Am I going to lose my timespot?” Lyte said suddenly, annoyance creeping into his voice. He hadn’t thought of that before—the ship was Nualan, of course, it was made of vandrun, which was impervious to Dielaan radiation. But what about his shaving tackle, his timespot?
“I’ll put anything you have on you into a vandrun case. You can carry that to your room. Just don’t ever wear it near the launch pads,” the man muttered, glancing at the computer to see why it hadn’t made its move.
“But it could eat my timespot if I wore it?” Lyte persisted. It was the last thing his mother had given him before his father kicked him out, which was why he hung on to it.
The duty officer shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve never been in the city. I don’t know how it works.”
“Moran, stop shamming and talk to me,” Lyte said without turning his head. He was momentarily distracted as the computer moved, filling the open space with the queen of hearts. The duty officer looked disappointed.
“About what?” Moran asked companionably.
“My timespot, joker. How potent is the radiation? Will it eat my timespot?”
“Only if you strap it to the nose of the ship before reentry.” The man straightened in his seat, stretching broadly before continuing. “The microbe’s harmless unless Dielaan radiation speeds up its metabolism.” Moran glanced over at the edifice board. “Didn’t you read about the sinisus microorganism?”
Lyte felt his irritation rising. “I read every damn thing in the library, and it didn’t say a damn thing about any damn microbe.”
Moran smiled; the expression was, as always, disarming. “There are microbes native to the Nualan solar system that leach minerals out of rocks. Normally they work about as fast as, say, a glacier melting. However, when one variety, Arachnobacillus sinisus, is exposed to Dielaan radiation, its metabolism goes crazy. A Dielaan radiation belt encircles this planet, so a ship’s hull is exposed as it enters the atmosphere. The sinisus microbes hop on board, mutate, and start eating at an incredible rate. They can devour a non-Nualan ship in about a thirtysixday. This ship is Nualan—its vandrun hull has been ‘doped’ so the microbes won’t like it. They’ll jump off the ship to find something to eat, but since all Nualan metals are doped, the microbes starve to death.”
“What if they find my timespot?” Lyte was still annoyed. This was the kind of information he had wanted and had been unable to find.
“The duty officer will seal it in a small case made of vandrun. You’ll carry it off in that. The microbes from the ships die quickly, Lyte—if we stay out of this area, it’s unlikely anything will happen to it. You can have the stuff plated if you’re worried.”
“Why isn’t it mentioned in the tapes?”
“It is—they say that all metal valuables will be sealed for visitor protection. Most people don’t care what causes things—only that they and their possessions are safe. Few tapes refer to the microbe, Lyte. And what you just heard is all that is recorded off-planet. The Nualans are very jealous of their secrets.” Moran’s gaze was steady, in control. “Are you finished with your game?”
Game. He had completely forgotten the stupid game. The duty officer was still staring at the board. He had only one move; if he had an ace, he could assassinate the pawn before his jack and move one space. But it gained him no money, nor an extra card. Surely he’d wait to see....
The man dropped an ace on the ten of hearts. “Assassin takes pawn of hearts,” came the computer’s voice. As the cards slid to the right to fill the void, the duty officer moved another card into the tier. “Jack of spades enters.”
Lyte was tired of the game. He whipped out his ace.
“Assassin takes queen of diamonds. King of clubs to edifice, queen of clubs to crown, jack of clubs to ascendant.” The pronouncement was sweet; so was the look on the duty officer’s face. Obviously he was hoping Lyte was too addled to think clearly. The warrior placed his last card. “King of pretenders enters.”
Lyte heard Moran chuckle, and felt his body’s tension continue to unwind. He had won. There was only one assassin card out; even if the fool had it, he couldn’t remove both edifice and crown. And Lyte had a pretender threatening both the man’s board cards.
The computer drew a card. “Pass.”
His nostrils almost vibrating in his agitation, the duty officer drew. “Pass.” There was no emotion in that tone. Lyte almost felt sorry for him again.
The warrior drew and set the card face down without looking at it. Only two cards left mattered—pawn of pretenders and the last assassin. Did he want to bother? A bright core of irritation said yes. He looked at the card. Assassin. But one can not draw and assassinate in the same turn. “Pass.”
“Pass.” Startled, Lyte glanced at the computer. It had missed its move! Or had the duty officer changed its game programming? Some variations did not allow pretender displacement. But they had played that version for three days....
“Stupid machine,” the nameless idiot muttered, drawing the last card. No, no change in the game, just a flaw in the program. Perhaps it realized it could not win and did not wish to inadvertently aid either side. But missing a play did often aid a side. “Pass.”
Hell freeze it. Lyte dropped the ace on the duty officer’s jack of clubs.
“Assassin takes jack of clubs, queen of pretenders to ascendant,” the computer announced. It then filled the last tier spot with its own queen of spades. “Pass.”
The duty officer sat very still for a long moment. “I concede.” He carefully folded his three cards and set them face down on the divider, hiding either three pawns or two pawns and a jack, Lyte knew. With only twenty-five cards in the deck, edifice strategy depended on the first three rounds. “Actually, it’s not that many hours until we land. I think I’ll get that valuables box right now.” Nodding tightly, the man stood and moved off down the aisle.
The cubiz Lyte swept into a pouch. He’d bank most of it on-world, keep a bit for dice games. Picking up the deck of cards, he touched the keypanel. The computer’s edifice board pulled away from the seat divider and slid into the wall. Finally, Lyte looked over at Moran.
“All right?” the man asked. Lyte nodded. “We’re arriving in about twelve Nualan hours. Tomorrow night is one of the biggest parties of the Nualan year, The Feast of Adel. You’ll have a great time. Trust me, the Nualans really know how to throw a party.”
Still reassuring; did he really look that bad? “I know,” Lyte said casually, gesturing at the promotional 3AV hologram. “I can’t believe this tape. Parties to celebrate a kid being fertile, for gods’ sake! I’m sorry we’re going to miss the Festival of Masks, though. It’s about forty days from now. Sounds like fun—everyone dressing up in ornate masks, acting crazy all night, keeping their identity a secret ...they visit the extended family during the day, I guess....” He toyed with the tape controls, stopping the tape. “And two wedding ceremonies—”
“Only one wedding ceremony. It’s public, held in the temple, and usually not until a child is on the way. If the couple is sterile then it’s ... an excuse to throw a party.” Moran chuckled at how neatly he had fallen into Lyte’s trap. “But the first ‘ceremony,’ if there is one, is private, called Bonding. It has deep religious meaning, which probably wouldn’t interest you. But any birth, any healthy child is reason to celebrate, so when an adolescent reaches puberty and tests positive, the family goes on a blitz of partying.” Moran glanced at his tiny timespot. “We’re almost there. Are you having fun with the propaganda tape? Is there more to Nuala than trine gold?”
Lyte allowed a dramatic sigh to pass his lips as his fingers started to riffle the cards. “All right. I’ve seen the landscape information and it’s not nearly as bad as I thought it’d be. You have to admit I need some information about this radioactive wasteland.”
“Wasteland!” Moran shook his head, not bothering to hide his smile. “I’ve heard tales of the desert people creating paradise out of sterile sand. And the sinis, the irradiated humans, farm the hot lands. Things do flourish on Nuala, Lyte.”
There was silence for a time, the only sound the ruffling of the edifice cards. “Did you learn all this at one time?” Lyte asked abruptly. “When you came here three terrayear ago, with the ambassador’s party?”
“A great deal of it. Roe has taught me quite a bit.” He smiled faintly. “I’ve known her three Nualan years tomorrow night—we met at the palace party the night of the Feast of Adel.” Moran’s smile grew broader. “Relax! You’re going to the most lavish party of the year. The Feast of Adel, ushering in High Festival and the new year—party before penitence, and then party again! And the women, Lyte! The women —”
“Can steal a man’s soul. No, thanks.” Lyte smiled as he said it. “I just wish we could stay longer so I could find out why you like the place so much. You talk as if you’ve come home.... You have a home, Moran—I’m the one who was thrown out.”
He had spoken easily, but Moran politely skirted the subject of his family. “A fifteenday furlough isn’t bad —”
“Elevenday, Moran,” Lyte reminded him casually, starting to set out the cards face up in an intricate pattern. He carefully controlled his sudden tension. Moran was as skilled at “reading” emotional currents as any commando—perhaps more skilled than most. If he realized Lyte was blocking ...
He knew—and that knowledge pained Lyte. Lyte could see the puzzlement in his eyes. Commandos usually did not “read” their friends, nor did they block each other. Moran had to wonder why Lyte was blocking. But he chose not to ask. And that’s why they sent me. You’re too trusting.
“I forgot. Why didn’t Officer Matias tell me about the meeting? I would have scheduled my furlough earlier.” Moran actually sounded annoyed. Interesting; he did not criticize his superiors very often....
Lyte shrugged. “It came up quickly, I guess. They must have a special assignment for us, or something.” He grinned. “If we’d known in advance, I could have found a discount trip to Mercury 7—and you’d be traveling alone.” Moran smiled at that. He had issued many invitations to Nuala over the past few years, but this was the first time Lyte had accepted. Usually the sumptuary worlds were too much of a lure.
Are you so in love with this woman that you can’t see? Lyte wanted to shout. It is friendship that brings me here, but not coincidence. His fingers hesitated on a card. They told me someone wants to kill you for even contemplating marrying a Nualan. And they told me to get you off the planet four days early. Did you think your furloughs to visit her on Nuala or at the university went unnoticed? Lyte shivered at the implications of such an assassination. Moran might be the perfect warrior; he was a decorated war hero, even a scholar. He was also an aristocrat of the bluest blood, the eldest son of a wealth-poor, title-rich Secundus CSSI family. I, too, am from the planet Secundus.... Lyte knew the bigotry of the CSSI system, knew its conscious and unconscious prejudices. It had a social system which married off strangers—his parents, among them—and forced them to remain together, to produce heirs to great wealth. Lyte shook his head to clear it. He thought he had escaped Secundus. And now the values of CSSI had the power to reach across a stellar alliance and touch them once again....
He could believe such a tale; could believe it of the fanatical aristocrats of CSSI, the first system colonized by humans. The Axis Tribunal ordered me to protect you, to entrap the assassin, if possible. So I’ll stop him ... if he exists. Lyte sighed inaudibly and set down the card in his hand.
There was more to it ... what, Lyte did not yet know. But the tribunal had withheld information—Lyte had “read” that fact as clearly as printed words. They told him to tell Moran there was a meeting. Was there a meeting? Had the war effort really calmed down enough for them to take a furlough? Nuala was only one system away from the front. Lyte had a feeling they were being used, but how? Why? The only way to solve the mystery was to follow his orders and shadow Moran. A commando followed orders, he did not question them. On a planet where no one carried blasters, a commando should be safe ... unless, like Moran, he was so smitten by the place he had lost all caution. Lyte would provide the buffer.
“Just be careful, for my sake, all right?” Moran asked. “Don’t offend anyone. You can bargain, and flirt, but ... remember the old proverb: ‘The Nuala do not lie, and therefore are not easily deceived.’ They are a highly civilized and moral race within their own laws, and they don’t trust off-worlders.”
“Do they really never lie?” Lyte said, suddenly interested.
Moran made a wry face. “Nualans are instinctively, or culturally, like commandos—they are highly skilled at ‘reading’ emotional currents. So they are difficult to deceive face-to-face. But, they have the same problems commandos have—the more people present, the harder to sift out the emotions of an individual. So Nualans don’t try to lie to individuals; they may keep secrets, or leave out information, or avoid a topic ... but they usually don’t lie to each other—why risk it? Yet they’re human. Their politics are as convoluted and scheming as any I’ve seen, and they have their share of criminals—not many, but some. Violent crimes are very rare there. More often it’s theft, illegal trading....” He returned to the question. “In other words, I wouldn’t risk trying to cheat a trader in the bazaar, but if you can attract a crowd with your bargaining, you’ll probably get away with it.”
“Because I bargain better than anyone else you know?” Lyte inquired innocently.
Moran fixed him with a stern look. “Just use whatever sense you have, all right? Remember the Nualans are an interesting dichotomy where off-worlders are concerned—both hospitable and paranoid.”
“If I had been abandoned after a colony mission backfired, I’d be paranoid, too. It took the Axis hundreds of years to find the courage to start colonizing again after the Nualan disaster. How many people are born sterile today?”
“About seventy percent now, although they are still called 80s. Apparently fertility has nothing to do with ‘hotness’; many sinis, irradiated humans, are fertile. However, an exceptionally large number of cool young people have been testing out fertile lately. For the Nualans, it’s a reason to rejoice. Everything here is centered around gene recombination; the child-rearing, the multiple spouses, the royal succession through the woman’s line—all to keep the genes moving.”
“Can you survive the intrigues of Baskh Atare’s court, Moran?” Lyte suddenly asked bluntly. “Can you grasp the possibility of fathering a king and having no power yourself?”
“A king?” Moran shook his head in denial. “Ronüviel has two healthy older sisters, one of them pregnant. We will have our place. With Ronüviel as a hot healer and as the Mythmaker, we will have just enough connection to the capital to keep everyone happy. I’ve been a scientist, a historian, a musician and a cartographer, and I was pretty good at all of them. I have only one more year of this tour to serve; then I’m going back to Nuala for the rest of my life.” Moran looked thoughtful. “To live on a planet where they abhor killing—to never have to kill again....”
Lyte was silent. He had suspected Moran would not renew his service. But had he really thought out the current political situation? Lyte knew that the heir was a scientist, not interested in ruling Nuala—and that the second son was of fragile mind, possibly already insane. The third would probably make a fine ruler, if the various enemies of the ruling Atare House did not kill him first. One man had been trying to supplant the Atares for fifty years.
“A deceptive paradise,” Lyte murmured, hoping Moran would think he meant the contrast of the harsh beauty of Nuala and the dangers of its radiation. “If more people are being born fertile, will they keep the polyandry and the polygyny? I’m not sure I’d like to be one of three husbands—that I could deal with it, I mean. How about you?”
“Anyone who marries an off-worlder can have only one spouse—they don’t think we handle their ways very well, either. Roe and I will be considered a family unit, with whatever children we may have. They like to know who the parents are to keep track of genetic disease, but other than that they don’t care. There is no such word as illegitimate in Nualan, by the way.”
“Isn’t polygamy the norm?” Lyte persisted. “The tape mentioned—”
“No. It is totally free choice. Those who are fertile—the 20s—are raised believing they are responsible for gene recombination and should try and find more than one spouse, but it is up to the individual. Most prefer monogamy. Only the off-worlders and Atares are bound to one spouse at a time. Sometimes 20s will marry 80s, but they keep looking for a 20.”
“I’m getting confused again.”
“I don’t think you ever pay attention. Here’s a real example—Arrez, the high priest, has four wives. The first, Elana, is a love match. The second was required because he is high priest and she high priestess—it’s part of the religion. But he and the priestess decided to make a real marriage out of it, not merely a symbolic one. Now, the high priestess already had a husband when she married Arrez. But there is nothing between her husband and Elana. They are friends—maybe only casually, I don’t know—and courteous to a member of their extended family. But for the two of them to get involved with one another ... well, it would be a little too much togetherness, and usually doesn’t happen. It could, but the Nualans are very conscious of possible tensions in families. That’s why godparents help raise children for periods of time. It also makes the kids more secure, knowing that more than one person loves them. Am I making sense?”
“I think so. You’re saying the morality is very strict within Nualan religion and custom. I take it that it works?”
“So far,” Moran answered, “Five thousand years’ worth. They are a rather unique people. There’s always enough love for the Nualans ... it never has a limit.”
Lyte’s gaze settled on the card in his hand—a king. He kept his thoughts to himself. People go there by choice? What draws you, Moran? What makes you choose Nuala?
MT. AMURA, NUALA, SONOMA MOUNTAIN RANGE
NUALAN YEAR 4952, FOURHUNDRED TWENTYFOURDAY, VESPERS
Dusk fell slowly, subtly on Amura, shadows giving way to night. The street illuminaries blazed on in the distant city, and Roe searched for major buildings and forums. It was no use; the temple and the palace were simple enough to find, as well as the medical complex and fine arts center. All else vanished in the increasing glow of the capital. The synod’s current yearly session would end tonight, if they could ever pass those last two bills, she thought wryly. Most likely the elders had personal worries. In less than one Nualan year elections for the 708th Synod would be held, and with the current heated debate on tariffs, immigration and the ever-present 20s-versus-80s problem, quite a few men and women were finding their benches in jeopardy. One nice thing about the session ending—only the garden and honor lights would be on, and the inner-city residents could sleep with their blinds up and windows open.
The night deepened, and still she and her brother did not speak. Roe let her hearing sharpen, waiting for the symphony to begin. She could hear the furtive rustlings of ground-stalkers, the wild akemmi and the lante; the shifting of tiny baby silva birds in their nests deep in the caves behind them. It was late for silvas to be nesting. Soon the adults would begin to migrate. She wondered if the little ones would be able to keep up.
Roe glanced out of the corner of her eye. Braan had not moved in hours. A few cheeps and trills came from the treetops below. The night symphony was beginning. The soft insect harmony grew louder. More and more Faxmur birds began to sing as the last streaks of light vanished from the horizon. Roe sat up, looking for the Brethren. The Seven Systems were so called because of the extremely close proximity of seven stars, Nuala’s young pale yellow sun the furthest out. The others soon appeared as the brightest constellation in the sky, shaped like the keystone of the Atare’s office.
Roe moved again to pull her long dark hair free and abruptly noticed the waterfall, its flow momentarily interrupted. She waited, smiling—a splash followed. Some small animal was going for a swim. They loved the high pool as much as her family did. Braan rolled over and sat up, looking out over the wide valley below. Only the multitude of lights was visible, and even further off, beyond the center of the city, the huge river Amura, the glowing orbs of the Brethren reflected in it. The sea was darkness—there were no moons yet this night. Zair moved, smelling the akemmi, his ears flicked forward. Roe put a gentle hand on his back to restrain him. The monstrous dog dropped his head.
“Shall we build a fire?” she asked. They were staying the night. It was for most a full day’s climb simply to the bottom of the mountain and the way station; they planned to cut through the caverns. They would have to leave well before dawn to meet Moran’s transport.
“If you are cold,” Braan replied. Roe did not move. The dry season was ending and the rains beginning, but there was no frost yet. She had only wanted a bit of cheer, anything to snap him out of his mood. She studied the black shape of his square jaw in the backdrop of the capital lights. Enid had had a relapse, and the truth was on the lips of every citizen; she was dying. Finally, after more years than Roe cared to count. And no one could blame Braan for taking a few days away from her side. Indeed, many wondered that he had the strength to bear it, that he had not taken a lover long ago, Atares barred by law from more than one mate. Six long years since the birth of their daughter; six years since Enid contracted the virus which slowly destroyed her health, her mind, and now, soon, her life. Long ago she had ceased to recognize any of them. As a healer, Roe had never entertained such thoughts, but perhaps the burden which hung over their entire family would lift if only the poor woman would die in peace, take the Last Path, her soul free.
Braan, she was sure, did not desire fire or even conversation. He wanted only to sit in this glade, oblivious to the world, his life, his responsibilities, his future. When had things been simpler—six, seven terrayear ago? He had been twenty-three terra then.... Ten years ago, serving a short tenure as a trader, in reality searching the galaxy for an intelligent, healthy woman brave enough to leave behind everything for her man and an unknown future. It was the same when their older brothers and sisters went searching, in many ways harder for the women. A man strong enough in himself to forsake all for the big planet was a rare man indeed. No one came half-way to Nuala....
“Moran will arrive for the feast?”
It was more statement than question, calling Roe back to the moment. Strange that they had discussed Moran so little, Roe thought. Usually they told each other everything, these two, best-loved of their generation. Praise Mendülay that their oldest brother, Tal, took no offense at Braan’s popularity, believing it could only help the royal family. Deveah, however, who was second in line—that was a different matter. His resentment of Braan was well-known by all. Braan was careful, very careful around Deveah. But Tal was the heir. He loved Braan, and respected Ronüviel’s opinion of him. Stay healthy, Tal, very healthy....
“Of course,” Roe answered, “providing the transport is on time. Sometimes I wonder if we are wrong, placing such restrictions on freight and passenger ships, even those crewed by our own people.”
“We are right.”
Ronüviel’s lips tightened at the hardness in his voice. Like Baskh Atare, Braan did not trust the Axis Republic, the confederation governing their interstellar alliance. Someday, they might turn their backs once again on Nuala ... he did not want his descendants to blame him for failing the vigil.
“Will you announce the marriage then?” Braan continued.
“He has not formally asked for marriage,” she answered, a chuckle in her voice. Braan snorted, stifling his laughter. Roe wondered if he suspected that the first, private ceremony had already taken place.
“Does Moran know that you are pregnant?”
“Braan! I have run no tests, had no signs—I have not even spoken to Elana!” She could feel Braan’s smile in the soft darkness, his pleasure at cracking her beautifully mannered facade. If the foremost healer on the planet had not questioned her health, why did he? He always knew everything....
“Elana knows everything,” Braan said gently, insistently, interrupting her thoughts.
“Not this time,” Roe replied. “With so much illness in her family, and of course—“
“I know. She is often with Enid, and when she is not, Shinar stays with her. The child will make a good doctor someday.” The image of Elana’s lovely daughter brightened their thoughts momentarily.
“That ‘child’ is a year older than Liel, and there is already talk of sending our sister out traveling early,” Roe murmured.
“No.” Braan’s voice was hard again. Of course, the decision was up to their mother, Ila the Ragäree, and their mother’s twin brother Baskh Atare. Decisions of the Atare and of the Mother of the Heirs were final. Only their father could have challenged the verdict, and he had been dead ten years. But no Atare, no Nualan had left the planet before their sixteenth birthday, unless to emigrate. And Roe knew Braan saw no reason to change now. Only those values instilled before adulthood seemed capable of withstanding the wreckage the Axis had become. And Liel was very innocent; too innocent for Axis games.
“Do you like Moran? You have never really told me,” Roe suddenly asked.
“You never told me if you liked Enid,” Braan responded. “Strange, how no one questions the choice of an Atare, and yet few of us have chosen badly.”
And yet I have always wanted your approval, and you have always wanted mine.... Ronüviel did not play at “who asked first.”
“I grew to care for her. Enid’s warmth was reserved for you and the children.” Roe’s voice was non-committal, careful, and Braan relaxed. It was true. Roe knew he was thankful for the friendship she had offered Enid. The woman had been—she was—a secretive woman, not cold but cool, a bit overwhelmed by the joyous warmth of the Atares, of Nuala. It was not what the average off-worlder expected.
“I shall be proud to call him brother,” Braan answered.
Roe waited, her thoughts chaotic. His reply was as ambiguous as his turn-about question. A brilliant war hero, high in the Axis eyes for one so young; yes, of course he is good for the family. But Roe did not want it to be as Enid and she had been, always a barrier—
Braan turned toward her. “And, if he will let me, friend.”
Now it was Roe’s turn to relax. “You think too much,” she began abruptly.
“So do you.”
“But I do not brood.” The tone was slightly accusing, and Roe cursed it even as it passed her lips.
“You do not have anything to brood about,” Braan replied, apparently not offended.
“You ...”
Braan glanced up. “Touché” came the archaic answer. He rolled over on his side, facing her. “Do not worry, I will take a quick hike around the capital when we get back. Use up all my excess energy.” Roe flashed him an irritated look. “Take a hike around the capital” was one of Baskh’s favorite brush-off sayings to his children, sister’s children and advisors alike, used whenever they stepped out of line. Braan heard it often, before he left the planet, and after, before Enid’s illness. For over five years he had kept silent, openly volunteering no suggestions, no criticism of the regime. His friends worried about him and his detractors fretted, expecting an eruption of the fiery Braan of old.
“What do you wait for, belaiss?” she asked gently, dropping down on one elbow. He stirred at the old endearment, not looking up. A night breeze touched them, sending a shiver through Roe and blowing Braan’s dark hair away from his face.
“For Enid to die ... so I can try to live again,” came the steady answer.
“You know—”
“That is not what you mean? What can I do, Ronüviel?” Now he met her gaze, eyes very dark in the starlight. “I am well beyond the schooling of the young ones, and I have no specific interests other than sculpture. The art pays and I gain a name—but I need more. I do not have the heart to seek another woman. I am not sure I could bear the pain, should something happen again....” His voice was very soft, perfectly controlled, as he spoke of things she had no doubt he had told no one else. “Yet I do not think the synod would consider two children my full contribution to the gene pool and would bar me from the military. I know, such is the burden of a 20—what I would not give to be a nameless 80!”
“And the synod is also barred.”
“I could give up my land holdings, even my claim on the throne. It would not be enough. If Tal sat the throne, ‘they’ would talk collusion. If Deveah, between us we would destroy the people. Shall I forsake home and family, never to return? Is freedom its own reward?”
“If Arrez—” Roe began very carefully. The high priest, so unlike what the off-worlders seemed to think a man of God should be, was Roe’s dearest of friends. Even he walked as softly as akemmi on this subject.
“No!” Braan sat up abruptly, staring out over the distant, twinkling lights of Amura, the swift disintegration of a shooting star.
“I am sorry ... but, Braan, never have I felt the spirit so strongly in any man—as much as Arrez in deep prayer—and you wear it like another skin.”
“Ah, yes, St. Braan.” His attempt at self-mockery always failed; the spirit was too much with him.
“There is a reason that the best to rule is third son, not first.” Barely a whisper, though the guaard hidden on the ledge below would repeat nothing, ever. Braan turned to silence her, but she sat up, freezing his lips with a touch of her finger. “Tal is a scientist at heart, Deveah a fanatic. You know that. I do—Baskh does. As much as I wish you were as devoted to art as I am to medicine, I know that there is purpose in this. I fear it, but I know you will not be given a burden greater than you can bear. I love you, crazy brother, and I am not alone in that. Your time is coming. I only wish I could lighten your heart, to ignite the cunning, witty, brash young cad you used to be.”
“I grew up.”
“No ... you aged. I do not think you will ever grow up.” She smiled then, her perfect teeth reflecting starlight, her strange eyes, the only set like his in this generation, a kaleidoscope before him. He managed a faint smile, the burden of silence slipping from his shoulders. He held her a moment, sharing the invisible strength from her molten fire within.
“I wish to stop at the shrine on the way down. How about your fire?” He released her and dug around in the pack he had used as a pillow. Zair leapt up to help, the huge descendant of Terra’s kingly dogs forgetting he was no longer a puppy.
“Down, fool, you will crush the heat disks!” Braan tried helplessly to fend him off, the beast retaliating by pushing him over with a large paw and cleaning his face for him. Roe’s low, golden laughter rang back from the waterfall.