TOLIS, NUALA
FOURHUNDRED TWENTYSEVENDAY, VESPERS
The council room was a dome of leaded glass, the floors polished to a brilliant ebony. By night the universe would settle on their heads, and by day, on a clear day, they could see almost to Amura’s mountains, the council room being the highest point in Tolis. No benches—the synod of this city had stood during their meetings for as long as memory stretched; it made for shorter and more concise gatherings.
Today the room was almost deserted, echoing from Tinyan’s footsteps. She had waited the afternoon there, her mind on one thing: Who had Baskh Atare sent? The prime minister was off-planet. Perhaps Tal, the heir? She prayed it would be Braan or Ronüviel. Only they understood....
It was cool. Even this short distance north, the year had begun to turn. She drew the sides of her woolen poncho close as she stepped up to the side of the dome, trying to absorb the last rays of light.
A subtle scent of evergreen and spice reached her nose, and Tinyan knew her husband Carad had entered the dome He preferred traditional skin boots, and his silent tread was the walk of an elkita master, but she knew his favorite cologne.
“Nowhere on Nuala does Holy Mendülay paint the sky as it is seen above Tolis,” she remarked, not turning.
“The brilliance of fire for a burning city,” Carad replied, stepping to her side.
“They come,” Tinyan went on, her voice still conversational. “Whom do you think he sent? The guaard on the transmission would not say.”
“As long as it is not one of Dielaan’s jackals, I do not care.”
She did not miss the edge to his tone. “When Corymb comes, he comes on his own. Baskh Atare is many things, good and bad. A fool he is not.” They stood awhile in silence, watching the sail top the horizon and swiftly approach the harbor.
“The winds of autumn begin. Rare for the southerners to come so late,” Carad began.
“There is need,” Tinyan answered, almost cutting him off. “Perhaps more than we suspect.” She turned from the dying starlight. “Quahna must be informed.”
“Not necessary” came Quahna’s voice from the chamber doorway. They looked up to see the archpriest, his white robe blood-colored in the last rays from Kee. Tinyan managed a smile despite her mood. She had not seen her secondhusband in two days. They stood silent, the eternal triangle, as it had been since they were children plotting to have Tolis acknowledged the power it could become. So Tolis had ... and why not? Did they not mine the trine gold? The radiation of the deeper veins held no terrors for sinis. Had a sini not created the Nualan metal, vandrun, which was inert, distasteful to the irradiated sinisus microbe? The keys to Nuala’s return to the Axis had been found scant kilometers from Tolis.
There was a price to pay for such power; family, privacy, personal needs and desires had been swept aside. Many times over they had paid it. Only Tinyan had desired it, to become a co-minister; she had paid the highest price of all. Quahna, to his amazement, had been chosen archpriest scarcely a year ago. Carad preferred his old ambassadorial post, but the city needed him as a minister. There were no laws against a married couple holding the joint office; reluctantly, he had accepted the position, and had proved a fine minister.
“I wonder if the children might come.” Tinyan left her voice musing, not quite a question.
“They would have called first, Tinyan,” Quahna gently replied.
“Of course.” She bit off the words, stiffening as she straightened the folds of her poncho. “Let us prepare the feast. They may bring off-worlders, we must have appropriate food.” She brushed past them into the corridor, disappearing into darkness.
oOo
Quahna reached out for a piece of hair which had caught on a splinter of the doorsill, absently wrapping the long, crimson strand around his finger.
“Over a thousand years to this end. Amazing we never thought past the moment of triumph,” Quahna said aloud. The big black man nodded his agreement. Quahna glanced up, his own short, trim physique dwarfed by the mighty Carad. Age had not dimmed the co-minister, though his hair was now prematurely white.
“Gid could be on board, you know,” Carad replied. “He loves to surprise us.”
“I hope he is, she could use such a boost. I miss his dry humor and his relentless logic.” Quahna paused. “It is hard to be the head of a city whose stated purpose is to remove the need for its existence, is it not?”
“She does not see the end in our lifetime, and does not dwell on it,” Carad said heavily. “She is proud our children were sent beyond the walls at birth. But it is hard, very hard. Let us prepare for our guests. The tone of the evening shall be set by the first off the moonraker. I wonder how they will phrase their report when they discover we base our findings on ‘feelings.’”
THE NOVA
VESPERS
Ronüviel was alone as she watched the mother star, Kee, set. The flaming ball dropped like a stone to the water’s rim. Sea sounds overwhelmed her—the creaking wood, the crying birds, the fine mist whipping against her face. An arm slipped around her waist, and she turned sideways to see Moran. He looked much better than he had at dawn; a day of sweats and trembling had left him weak and drawn, suspicion clouding his features. Roe’s stomach knotted again as she thought of the consequences—Braan’s drink, Moran’s life. What is happening to us? The pale shadow that was Lyte stood behind her lover—he was never far from Moran’s side. He was worried, too, though he never mentioned it.
“Time to get into suits?” Moran asked, referring to the protective gear they would wear during their stay.
“Soon.”
“How do you know when to get into suits?” Lyte asked.
“Every shipmaster has his own system,” she explained. “This one waits until he can see the engravings on the dome. A small ship would have different ways. The marine life, the flora tells you if you know what to look for....”
“Someone said not to drag our hands in the cargohold water. I didn’t realize that even the land is more radioactive here, much less the ocean. Some of the sailors have already changed,” Lyte observed.
“A moonraker is too large a ship to be left unattended while people suit up. The new shift will not have to becalm the boat, as a smaller ship might. We should go below. Already I think we are too close.” She gestured for them to follow.
“Do we wear them all the time?” Lyte asked.
“Except when we are in our own rooms, which are especially treated and sealed. Everywhere else we accommodate them. That is why Braan left Zair behind—we do not make suits for animals.”
“Does Gid have to wear one?” Moran asked.
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“I thought his parents were sini.”
“The leaders of the city or something?” Lyte added.
“They are,” Ronüviel replied, ducking a low sill. “But Gid is not. He is as vulnerable as we are. Tinyan, his mother, is a mild sini, a mock sini. We can be in her presence without suits for hours. Carad, Gid’s father, is very hot—it is unusual that both his children are cool.”
“How long has Braan known Gid?” Lyte asked suddenly. Roe glanced up—she sensed more behind the question.
“Since they were children. They were best friends, and shared everything together. Gid feels a responsibility to the city of his birth, however, so now they see each other rarely. It is true there are fanatics in Tolis, as anywhere, Lyte, but Gid reb^Tinyan is above suspicion. He would die for Braan, and he has no reason to hurt Moran.” Desiring no more questions, Roe directed them to put on their climate-controlled suits. Always the garment had repelled her; she did not care that it was comfortable, impossible to rip and took care of every bodily need. She felt alien within it. Only Braan wore it as if he was born in one—and only she knew he also dreaded wearing the suits. But it was wear a suit or remain isolated in a room. She demonstrated how to put one on and activate the functions, and then led them back to the deck. Braan and Gid awaited them, the two men already encased in suits.
The city now loomed on the horizon. Its similarity to Amura was apparent even from a distance. Tolis was lighter, however, as if made of white marble. It was built of pieced stone from the surrounding region. Why import expensive materials to be damaged by uranium breakdown? Roe studied the beautiful inlaid mosiacs and the ancient rock fortifications. Tolis was a city of contradictions, one of the most beautiful and deadly places on the planet. It occurred to her that it was not unlike the planet Nuala as a whole.
“They are not wearing suits,” Lyte said suddenly. She squinted to see the wharf. A large crowd had gathered, the color of their robes muted in the twilight.
“Of course not. We are the aliens here. You will find the desert clothing comfortable, Lyte. We shall wear it within our own sector.” The man turned and walked toward the stern, apparently watching the night creep in. Ronüviel felt a stirring of compassion—Lyte was more disturbed by this visit than he would ever admit. She reached for Moran’s gloved hand, and his responding grip was firm. “You will like Tinyan, Carad and Quahna. They have fought many battles to reach what they want. They are individuals of great strength and courage.” She could not tell whether or not he was reassured.
oOo
Their hosts were prepared for the huge crowd and quickly whisked them away to the ministers’ beautiful, austere home up in the cliffs. Normally the arrival of the throneline Atares would have required a feast, but it was the secondday of High Festival, and that precluded formal entertainment. Roe was told that Quahna was needed at services and would join them later. In the meantime Carad and Tinyan offered their gracious hospitality in the form of a light meal and good conversation.
Dinner was a skillful blend of off-world and Nualan delicacies. Lyte sat at the bar watching in fascination while Carad tossed the main course together with the seeming abandon of a master. Carad’s dinner contained the first meat the Nualans had offered Moran and Lyte, except for at the feast, but it was a tiny portion of the whole. Roe had no concerns about how free from radiation the meal would be, and watched silently as Tinyan sought Gid’s help in preparing a steaming alcoholic beverage. When everything was ready, the newcomers went into the next room and removed their outer suits. Roe and Braan arrived last, carrying two-thirds of the dinner and drinks. Carad opened the drapes and, to Gid’s amusement, waved through the nonreflective glass. An excellent intercom was activated, and with the tables as extensions of the wall, Roe occasionally felt as if they were all sitting in one room and talking. Certainly conversation and good humor were not lacking. Tinyan, glowing over the surprise of her eldest’s visit, was in unquenchable spirits.
Roe studied the woman and her dark son, who were sitting so close together that only the thickness of the glass separated them. Gid was the image of his father, as close to Afrikanis as any man in the Axis Republic—that was the fault of Carad’s family, fanatics who married only the blackest, the hottest. Carad gave up his past to marry the pale, red-haired firebrand Tinyan, and this little gathering was all the family he had: these friends, Quahna, and the three other children. How strange, to be cut off from roots ... it was not the normal Nualan procedure. And how beautiful Tinyan was, as if she had not aged a day since Gid’s birth over twenty years before....
The thirdmeal dishes were being dropped in the autoton, and dessert and hot saffra being served when there was a knock at the main door. Tinyan answered, and ushered in Quahna. Carad pulled out another mug and plate.
“You are in time for saffra, my friend! Will you join us?”
“Thank you, yes, Carad. Now that the old man has arrived, it is time to get down to serious matters.” Quahna’s voice was gentle but unyielding, and Ronüviel felt a chill. Now was the time for what they had come for—the true meaning of all the preceding pleasantries. The priest sat down next to his wife and took a sip of saffra. He stared through the glass at the visiting group, and finally began to speak, choosing Axis over Nualan as a courtesy to their guests.
“Braan, there is no way to express our gratitude for your arrival. We are aware of Enid’s failing health, and give you our sympathy for your pain.” Braan appeared untouched by the words, but Tinyan’s fingertips against the glass in a futile outreach shook him visibly.
Carad continued the speech. “All the more because what you have come to hear is brief and cryptic, and what you will see are but pieces in a great puzzle. We are but pawns, whatever my pride may shout in argument.” Carad paused, apparently uncertain of how to proceed.
Tinyan had no doubts. “Forget the 80-20 problems, our civil rights, the border skirmishes with the Stigati Ciedärlien, all of it. Something potentially much more lethal is taking place right under our noses. We are losing land, Atares. Losing crucial land—and I suspect to one man.”
“Specifically which land?” Roe asked.
“Mostly the Luna tracts,” Tinyan replied.
Braan stopped twirling his eating utensil and looked up. “How much?”
“We do not know. That is why we are frightened and why we need you to discover what you can.” Tinyan looked visibly worried.
“What are the Luna tracts?” Moran finally asked. Lyte also looked interested.
“The lands surrounding the trinium mines,” Roe answered. “There are literally thousands of square kilometers in the area. The nominal owners are the Atare clan, as the discoverers of trine gold, but all the people have a stake in the trade. Whom do you think is buying up so much of the stock?”
“Corymb Dielaan.” Tinyan’s face registered no expression. Roe saw Moran and Lyte react to her voice—not to the tone, but to the lack of tone, of any emotion at all.
“Our rabid, 80- and sini-hating friend. Interesting. No one can own more than ten percent of the released stock. How is he doing it?” Braan asked easily.
“We think he is buying the rights to off-world trade names, companies that have folded. He would never have to announce his holdings, you know. He could simply draw the profits and keep silent,” Tinyan answered.
“No.” Carad’s voice was granite. “I know Dielaan; he is insatiable. That jackal will not be happy until he has all the trinium mines. And he wants people to know he has these things.”
“He wants love and respect most of all,” Quahna said gently. “Which he cannot buy. He is doomed to fail.”
“Perhaps.... perhaps not. With the stranglehold the synod has had our family in these last few years, Corymb’s chances to unseat Baskh are better than ever. Not through election, or war—through Deveah.” Roe’s words fell on silence, the thought sobering them all. “My question is why the synod turns a blind eye to him. Even the tribe of Dielaan grows ashamed of his deeds.”
“They all have their little power games. They think he keeps Baskh on his toes,” Tinyan replied sourly. “I would also be cautious if I feared a knife in my back. And our watch station has been put on alert by Jaacav—something about our Axis guard ships pulling back. There has been a change in the war. We are no longer right behind the front?” The first was not really a question; the second was.
“It is believed an offensive is coming, possibly an attack from two sides by both the Fewhas and the Malvevenians. But they would not have released Lyte and me for furlough if it was expected soon,” Moran offered. Roe let her gaze rest on him, seeing his sadness as he realized the Toli were not about to believe him. He had not lived with the fear, the paranoia, the hate—the knowledge that Nualans were expendable. He could not know....
“Enough,” Carad said with a wave of his hand. “You may check the records tomorrow, and see for yourself. You traded the galaxy lines, Braan, you know what to look for. I think you will find what we fear.” Toasting his guests, he drained his mug and, with a touch of his wife’s hand, left the room.
Roe did not stand to move as the others did. She watched Tinyan, as always amazed that two strong-willed men like Carad and Quahna could both be married to such a woman. Her magnificent, fiery beauty and intelligence possessed a heat far beyond radiation. Years before Braan had nearly caused an uproar in the royal court over his unrequited love for his best friend’s mother. Age was not the problem—Tinyan knew the old stories, and knew better than to fall in love with a man who was barred from marrying even a Nualan 20. She was the one with two men, and by custom would have had to make the first move—she had wisely kept silent. But Roe knew the truth of the attraction, and if Braan had been a nameless, faceless 80, Tinyan would have three husbands instead of two.
Oh, my brother, she thought with pain as Braan said his good-nights and walked to the rooms prepared for them. There is something cold within you, trying to protect what is left of your scarred heart. Even the children cannot reach you. Will you let no one try? Tinyan had entered their side of the family room, and was off by the window, joking with Gid.
Then her son looked serious, and drew her to the couch, insisting that she listen. Roe wondered what Gid was up to; he could not have missed Braan’s uncharacteristic aloofness of late. But once the families had been very close—she hoped some of that was left. Coming out of her thoughts, she looked up to find Moran patiently waiting for her to accompany him to their quarters.
“Thank you,” she said simply, offering him her hand. They walked slowly back to the apartments.
oOo
Braan sat down on the edge of his double bed, clutching his caftan. He had stripped down to the long, loose, string-waisted pants, joqurs, the southerners preferred. Something in the night drew him, and he stared out the tiny window at the sliver of the firstmoon, Eros. Holy One, things are getting worse. Do I have enemies on every front? Do they abandon us to the Fewhas, thinking we are as unarmed as Axis planets are supposed to be? And why bother to poison me, why is the third brother a threat? Malice....sheer hate....
There was a knock at the hatch.
“Enter.” Braan turned his head, saw Tinyan’s etched features by the light of the water candle, and let a smile slip across his face. “I was hoping to see you. Have you come for idle chatter, the latest gossip, or the truth about the Nualan Synod?”
Tinyan managed a deep-throated chuckle. “Actually, Gid sent me to entice you.”
A quick rush of air followed this remark, as Braan sat back and turned away, touching his forehead in a gesture of mock despair. “Not you two as well! I thought I was safe here!”
“Can you escape truth?” she asked, pulling the hatch closed behind her.
“Truth?” He was tired, unable to block. The all-too-familiar depression settled like a cloud.
Tinyan stepped over and sat on the low stool by the end of the bed. “There is a loving man behind that practiced smile. But it has been a long time since I have seen him.”
Braan looked out the window again. “If you are getting into therapy as a sideline, Tinyan, then—“
“Can you believe that? Just because we both choose to be blind, do not call me insensitive as well. My son and friend, Gid, made a point I should have seen for myself.” She reached up and clasped his neck with her cool, slim hand, turning him to face her. “When she dies, Braan, what will you do?”
“She is already dead, actually. We merely wait to bury her.”
There was nothing visible, yet the emotions in the room were chaotic, collapsing. For once the ability of all Nualans to sense emotional currents was a help and not a hindrance. To less-attuned humans, nothing would be evident. He did not even sweat.
“You can do better than that, Braan. Or shall you tell me I am being too familiar with royalty?” He started to turn away; only a slap would have been more insulting. “Braan, I have to tell you. I never told anyone—Gid, Carad, Quahna, none know—but now is the time. I spoke to Enid alone once, just before Asiai was born. Do you know what she told me? That she knew the child would be her death. She had not believed it until right then, but finally she did. And she did not care! In that grim, cool manner of hers, she told me that for four years she had been a queen—not in name, but between your worship of her and the people’s worship of you, close enough. And that too much of it was dangerous. She loved it and feared it. Did you know that when she was born doctors said she would never survive her childhood? But somehow, with her will to live, she hung on. She never told you, did she? You knew she looked fragile; you never knew she was fragile.”
“Yes,” he whispered, more to stop her than to answer her.
“She forbade her family, her friends to say anything, wanting to go with you and knowing you loved her too much to take her if you knew. She always lived on borrowed time! No one here knew—everyone thought the air, the food was too much for her. No ... Enid would have died on Orion, probably before this. They are very good at bringing weak fetuses to term, poor at adult medical care.”
“Do not dare—“
“But that is fortunate for us! She gave you Dylan and Asiai and her love; the things she wanted you to have most of all. And she made me promise that if anything happened, I would remember, and find a time to tell you. For I was the mother of your best friend, and Nualan—I would not dare lie. And I waited for the time to speak, thinking you would snap out of it, not truly realizing how ... dangerous ... your position was, how you had to seem to vanish to survive. How it finally affected you.”
“Tinyan, please—“ He kept waiting for her to cease, yet he had no strength to stop her.
“You gave her everything she ever wanted for as long as it was humanly possible. And now—will you withdraw into a shell as a testimony of love? It seems to me that choice would say, ‘I made a mistake. The potential pain is not worth it.’” There was a long pause.
Braan studied the sinking moon. He turned back to her. “You always leap for the jugular, do you not?”
“Was it worth it?” she asked, ignoring his question. And Braan knew he had lost the argument.
“Yes.” He slowly pulled away from her, propping his elbows up on his knees and dropping his head in his hands. She waited, setting her other hand, still cool, like the night, on his shoulder.
Braan’s thoughts were spinning. Could he have been that blind? Why not? It was possible. So many things he had always felt were unsaid. A mirthless smile crossed his face. If only the rumors were true, and Nualans really did investigate the genes of their chosen ones. But then they would never have been so happy....
The man felt tears coming on and rose, facing the window. Tinyan stood to leave, and paused. He felt her hesitation, and then heard her walk over behind him. Tinyan slipped her arms around him, hugging him briefly. As she began to pull away, his fingers seized her clasped arms, stopping her.
“What right do you have to come here, smelling of starset and singeing me with the fire of truth?”
“You like pain and self-pity?” Tinyan responded.
“No. What else do you offer?”
“The love and admiration of millions.”
Braan softly snorted. “If I reject it, and leave Nuala forever, will you come?”
Tinyan hesitated before replying. “No glass partition would stop you?”
“Or bother me,” Braan whispered.
“Yes. If you can look me in the eye and tell me to leave the fools to their doom, for doom is what I fear.”
Braan slowly turned to face her and lightly rested his fingertips on her arms. “No,” he answered. “As much as a part of me would like to do just that, I could not. As you know. I am too well trained.”
Tinyan smiled. “You love them too much ... as I love you. I tried to forget you a long time ago, with every foolish, antique and unscientific excuse I could think of. Please do not think I was wholly untempted.”
His strange eyes, dark in the light of the water candle, pierced her. “Ten years ago I risked friendship, dignity and my Atare’s wrath to chase you with adoration and roses the color of your hair. And then you enter with the words I have dreamt about!” He released his gentle touch and turned away, smiling faintly, sardonically. “You are bad.”
“I did not lie.”
Braan slowly faced her again. “Why?”
Tinyan looked closely at him. “Because ... you must return to the living sometime. Are you not a bit afraid of the legend? That you cannot live up to it?” She smiled faintly. “If I am nothing else, my friend, I am a true lover—one who loves. I am not beguiled by the off-world pleasures. I ask nothing, expect nothing, and give everything; something no other child of Nuala could promise.” Her sudden grin was so wicked Braan threw back his head and laughed.
“I have been told that what I thought was simple, honest mutual pleasure spoiled a lot of women,” Braan replied.
“Most of them have forgotten what it was like to be the center of attention, if they ever knew. I have been told it was your manner, not your technique. But enough—I would like some firsthand knowledge.”
Braan laughed again, softly, and shook his head, beginning to look away. The simple facts made her words incredible; Tinyan was still young, though she had borne four children. A foreign source always increased the odds, and Braan had once witnessed the parting of a mock sini and her child. He could not bear the thought of causing that, even if she did not fear it. Yet the mark of Nuala was free choice.... Then she touched the crook of his arm.
“Why not?” She stepped closer until she was right in front of him, her eyes level with his. He took a half-step back and studied her, the situation sinking in. Braan felt his body temperature rise, his pulse increase slightly.
All his life this woman had floated through his mind like a cloud at starset: colorful, ethereal, lucid, remote. And he had always wondered, if things had been different; if she had been cool, or he sini and tribeless; could she have cared for him, if only for a day, a night.
Things were not different; but she cared for him, and there was a night, and at least two and a half hours before he might get dizzy from radiation. He was so tired. Then he smelled the wind in her hair, the scent of starset, and without hesitation extended his arms and sought her mouth as if it was the most natural thing in their lives.
She was fierce, as if unaware until now of her own reaction to him, and traced the curve of his throat with her lips. Braan felt that familiar heady feeling, as if he had touched a living nerve, and for the first time in years did not fight it, did not recycle and dismiss it. It had been so long, and he had almost forgotten how wonderful it was. Almost.
He softly, quickly, almost carelessly kissed the length and breadth of her throat and shoulders, carefully tracing the uplift of her magnificent breasts. She shivered, and remembering an old boldness, he touched the clasp at her left shoulder. The caftan fell partially open, and it was all he could do to keep his head. She chuckled at the soundless appreciation of his look, pleased with their mutual pleasure. Tinyan slipped off the sleeve and ruffled the light brown hairs on his chest with her fingertips.
“If you did not know a good woman improves like fine wine, know it,” she whispered in his ear. Braan paused, almost in homage, to Tinyan’s amusement, and then bent and placed a kiss between her breasts that brought forth from her an unanticipated moan. He suddenly scooped her up in his arms, meeting her kiss and popping the other clasp as he did so. He slipped her onto the bed, sweeping away the caftan as he dropped down on his side next to her. With one hand she delicately massaged the muscles of his chest while the other hand pulled the string from his joqurs.
Braan tried to remember and savor each moment that came afterward, as he had so often done before, but he could not. He remembered tracing the delicate line of hairs down her stomach, and then half-buried instinct took over. The fire in that room was more potent than any radiation, the body locked to his coaxing him on to endurance and insanity he had forgotten was possible. His mind was in such a spin he thought radiation poisoning had taken over, but a few long gasps later he could see again.
She was smiling at him, and he shyly managed to answer, bending forward to kiss her raised shoulder. She stopped him with a gentle touch, much as he had stopped her moments ago when an errant move would have escalated things too swiftly. Then she slipped her arm around him and found a backbone muscle, gently kneading it while she followed the bones of his face with her left hand. Braan relaxed in her arms, torn between sleep and the half-restful, half-arousing touch of her hands. He quietly traced the curves and swells of her body, knowing there was time for many things before she had to leave....
oOo
When he awoke in the faint shiver of dawn, he was alone, and on the headrest next to his was a single reddish-gold rose.