Braxi-Azea - In Conquest Born Part 18

"They support the structure of our society."

Lamos shrugged. "That's no concern of mine."

"Isn't it? You're happy enough to live at the expense of the state, Lord Lamos.

What would happen if suddenly the government didn't support your indulgence?

Would you be so smug then?" He pointed to the other's hands in frank incre- dulity. "This is beyond indulgence. This is beyond personal pleasure. We do not display our skin before commoners-"

"Ah." Lamos glanced at his hands as he stroked the palm of one with the forefinger of the other. "It bothers you that my hands are naked."

The dark eyes smoldered, but Zatar's voice was calm. "We've all seen men ungloved, if that's what you mean. You didn't invent s.e.xual diversity, you know.

Must you make this harder than it has to be?"

Again Lamos shrugged. He was beginning to enjoy himself. "I've done nothing."

"Exactly the problem."

"Kaim'era, there are no laws in question here-only some vague and outdated customs which I happen not to care for. I'm no commonblood, you know. You can't just . . . push me around because you don't like my style. Legally, you have nothing on me." There! It was said.

"This is true. And I haven't come to criticize you personally, although you certainly inspire it. The point is this: the Kaim'erate has given formal consideration to your right to live as you're doing, and we have decided that it's not within our power to pa.s.s official judgment on you-you, personally."

Smugly, Lamos waited.

"However, we have decided that a.s.suring the image of future generations is within our jurisdiction. And so, on behalf of the Kaim'erate of the B'Saloan Holding under Braxi/Aldous, I am here to inform you that you will be required to turn over your son to a more traditional House, in order that he might receive the upbringing which is his birthright."

Lamos paled. "What?"

Zatar's expression was unreadable. "I think you heard me."

"You can't be serious. They can't be serious. Give up my son? It's unheard of!" .

Zatar waited.

"I won't have it! I won't!"

The Kaim'era's voice was loaded with quiet threat. "Shall I tell the others that you mean to oppose our decision?"

"No . . . no, I didn't mean that."

"Then I should perhaps tell them you mean to oppose our right to make such a decision."

"Yes . . . I mean, no!" Lamos was alarmed. Nowhere in Braxin history was there a precedent for anyone successfully standing up to the Kaim'erate. The rulers of Braxi, notoriously suspicious regarding the motives of their own kind, never failed to ally when their power was threatened. For Lamos to oppose them would be folly, if not outright suicide.

"Kaim'era Zatar, you don't understand. . . ."He searched for the proper words, but at last had to settle for, "He's my son."

It was Zatar's turn to smile.

Lamos was panicking. To lose a son . . . was there any way to capture that horror in mere words? One's lifesblood, the offspring of pleasure, a creature to mold and cherish, the hope of decades, of numberless fruitless attempts at conception! The filthiest peasant was still permitted to raise his own sons, or to seek such where they had been abandoned. The need to raise a child was as basic a human drive as ... as . . . well, as any other which the Braxana respected!

"Kaim'era Zatar . . . please tell me this is not true." The disdain dropped from his voice and he found that he had adopted a formal mode. "I cannot believe that the Kaim'erate would make such a decision."

"What you choose to believe is of no consequence. The fact remains. You may submit to our order, or file formal opposition."

"Surely there is something else I can do."

The Kaim'era's expression was cold, as was his voice. "I know of nothing."

The absolute mode which Zatar employed frightened Lamas even more than his words. "But surely something. . . ." He swallowed his pride. "I could . . . reform my image?"

"It's too late for that."

"Nonsense!" He exploded in anger-an acceptable display of emotion, he knew.

(Ar, he was starting to think like them!) "That's the problem, isn't it? Well, it can be fixed."

He waited breathlessly for the Kaim'era to answer; Zatar was painfully slow in doing so. "They wouldn't believe you."

"I could demonstrate-"

"You can't demonstrate that type of commitment, Lord Lamos. Now, I'm on a tight schedule; it isn't Peacetime, you know. I'm supposed to bring the child to Braxi before I go back to Tactical. Can we cease arguing the merits of this decision and get on with it?"

Who was it said that to kill an only son was to emasculate the father? Was this not much the same thing, at least as far as Lamos was concerned? "Kaim'era. . . ."

The pleading tone of his voice horrified him, but he made no move to disguise it.

Better to humiliate himself in front of this man now than have all the Kaim'eri laughing at him for the rest of his life.

"The decision was made," Zatar said sternly. "To oppose it now, even to modify it, would require an advocated case. That would mean someone putting his reputation on the line for you. I'm not willing to do it."

"But if I could prove my sincerity-"

"How? Be realistic, Lamos. How can you prove anything like that?"

"There must be some way. Lord-Kaim'era-I appeal to you as a Braxana! As a man." As a father- he was about to say, but that was dangerous; he didn't know Zatar's reproductive status.

Zatar's expression changed slowly, from one of disinterest to a look of thoughtful consideration. "I can think of one way," he said finally, "although I can't guarantee the Kaim'eri's response to it."

"Of course not, of course not!"

"Much of the Braxana image, you know, is based on physical attributes. It strikes me that if you enrolled in one of the military training programs on Garran, this would certainly be a powerful statement regarding your intentions."

Lamos' eyes widened in alarm. The Garranat House of War existed to turn men into soldiers, with little concern for their comfort. Located in one of the most desolate corners of the Holding, it was notorious for weeding out those who lacked the stamina for battle by breaking them in training. (Better a commoner's death on Garran, it was said, than a weak sword in war.) The fact that fully half of the system was devoted to military a.n.a.lysis and tactical command was of little comfort to Lamos, as was the fact that most of the Braxana who entered the House of War breezed through the initial training with ease and dignity. Those were men who thrived on discomfort, and who were-he admitted sulkily-in better shape than himself. It was reasonable to a.s.sume that they could complete the training in a few zhents, and be no worse for wear. With him it might take years-and unpleasant ones, at that.

But his son!

"Is this really necessary?" he managed.

"Not at all. As a matter of fact, you'd have to convince them to accept the move at all, and that would require an advocated case. The alternative is much simpler.

So if you'll bring out your son, I'll take him with me and end the matter." He looked around. "Where is he?"

"I'll do it," he said hurriedly. "Ar knows, I'll regret it-but I'll do it. Great Kaim'era, say you'll advocate this for me, I beg of you."

"I've made a commitment to Tactical, at the House. This would require too much time on Braxi. I don't know, Lamos."

"I have a planet out by the Border." Lamos spoke quickly, lest the Kaim'era should make a negative decision before he could convince him to do otherwise.

"A pretty little thing which was a colony of Fenda, before we wiped out Fenda. It's a nice little place for a vacation now and then . . . I would be honored if you would accept this, in return for this favor."

He held his breath as Zatar considered. It was a good bribe; all Braxana had the means to purchase planets, but real estate by the War Border was rare and owning it imparted considerable status. And it was a blessed nice planet, too.

"Get the records."

With undignified haste Lamos summoned his Mistress and bade her fetch the proper doc.u.ments. When she returned with the rings he pulled out a reader and quickly dropped them, one after the other, onto it.

Zatar observed the screen in silence. Surely the planet would please him! It was a lovely piece of property, a little low on the gravity scale perhaps, but the location was beyond reproach. "Agreed. I will attempt to convince the Kaim'erate to accept your proposal."

Lamos was breathless with relief. "I can't express my grat.i.tude to you, Kaim'era."

"Transfer of ownership would be most eloquent."

"Of course!" He nodded to S'vethe, who opened a line to the local Central Computer relay, which admitted their voice-codes and gave them access to the proper records of ownership. Lamos dictated adjustments. The computer recorded and filed them, and sent out a copy of the transaction to the Central Computer itself. It was official.

"Very good." Zatar nodded his approval. "Now, if you'll excuse me, it's three days to Braxi, and then some to handle this business."

"I'm grateful for your time, Kaim'era." There was no doubt about it, Zatar had saved him from a bad situation. The future wasn't all that attractive, but at least he'd retain his offspring. That was what mattered, to a true Braxana. "Your presence has done my House great honor." He noticed S'vethe staring at him in amazement, but what matter? She was only a woman, and only half-Braxana.

This was between the Lords of Braxi. "See him out, my Mistress," he said in his most dignified tone.

Wordlessly, she obeyed. Nor did she glance at the Kaim'era as she led him out, Zatar noted, or speak to him as they descended the main staircase. The Kaim'era sensed that she was teeming with questions, all of which would have to go unanswered-unless Lamos was willing to satisfy her curiosity, which was unlikely. He wondered if she would ever learn enough of what had transpired to tell Lamos that the Kaim'erate didn't have the power to take his son away.

Doubtful.

When the great doors shut behind him, before he entered his shuttle, he took a flatrendering from inside his tunic and opened it. Smiling slightly, he read.

To Kaim'era Zatar, son of Vinir and K'siva: These are your instructions regarding Lord Lamos, as confirmed after debate on this, the eighth day of the fifth zhent, '97 after the Coronation of Harkur.

It is the decision of this body that Lord Lamos must embark immediately upon a course of action designed to bring him more in line with the traditional Braxana image, both physically and emotionally.

Since we have no laws which permit us to dictate such action, we ask that you employ more subtle means to achieve this end. You are free to use whatever threats, bribes, and/or coercion you deem necessary, in the certainty that the Kaim'erate will back you.

It would please us greatly to see Lord Lamos enrolled in some regular regimen of mental and physical discipline, such as that employed by the military training schools. Whatever action he does take, it is considered highly desirable for him to believe that he takes it of his own free will.

The Kaim'eri of the Holding under Braxi/Aldous Present: 109 In affirmation: 91 In negation: 3 In abstention: 14 Absent: 18 Zatar laughed softly. Then, with the deed to his new planet nestled snugly on the index finger of his right hand, the Kaim'era boarded the shuttle which would take him back to Garran.

Harkur: We must a.s.sume that the thought-processes of human and non- human differ so greatly that without direct mental contact there can be no true understanding between the two.

Eleven.

The ice-plains of Derleth were bleak and gray that mom-ing, as they were every morning beneath the fog-laden canopy which comprised the atmosphere. Here and there the light of a tired sun fell on some ice-formation and a flash of brightness signaled a ray of hope; then a particle-cloud filled the gap and made the celestial grayness whole again. And the sun, if anything so ineffectual could truly be called a sun. was content once more to filter its light through the omni- present gray of Derleth and give its warmth, not to the planet's surface, but to the insulating cloudcover.

It was a planet that truly deserved to be devoid of life. Yet life was there; not human life, it is true, but a form of being whose nature did not yearn for light or comfort. It is true that they were somewhat human in form, these natives, though protective fur covered their limbs and their extremities had evolved to meet the challenge of eternal ice. Yet they were clearly not human, for what creature of that designation would shrug at the sight of true sunlight and praise the return of the everpresent grayness, as these creatures did?

But all this was very subjective. Azea had discovered life on Derleth a mere Standard Year ago and had not yet investigated the nature of local anatomy.

Bipedal life of human proportion had been known to develop independently, and perhaps Azea avoided close examination of the issue deliberately. It would be difficult to look at the natives of this bleak and terrible place and feel any kinship with them, or with their aspirations, no matter how human science made them appear. It was far, far preferable to believe that underneath the ice lay evidence of local evolution than to accept that human stock had been placed on Derleth, as elsewhere, to evolve in response to local conditions.

This morning the wind was calm, for which the lone traveler in the wastes was grateful.

The ice-plains were not on the equator; there, where the warmth of Derleth's weak sun was concentrated, the planet was almost habitable. Instead they stretched across the western hemisphere just south of that livable zone, bordered by impa.s.sable mountains on three sides. It took a native half a year and a tremendous amount of luck to cross the plains alone, alive. And it was a.s.sumed that no one but a native could manage the feat.

Of the twenty fersu who had departed from the mountain village with this traveler, ten remained. All that was necessary was for the woman herself to reach the far mountains; how many of her supportive team of native animals came with her was inconsequential.

The lone traveler-who was not a native-stopped to review her body temperature.

She had spent nearly half a year on the ice, cold and without human company.

The latter didn't bother her as much as others had antic.i.p.ated; she had never been a social creature and was just as content to be left alone with her thoughts for a while. But the all-pervading cold of the wasteland exhausted her, and the bleak grayness filled her days with an intolerable boredom which was as dangerous as the ice itself.

I must not only come out of this alive, she reminded herself, I must come out of this sane.

Azea had made overtures to the fur-clad natives of Derleth and had received the kind of response that gave amba.s.sadors nightmares. Yes, Derleth would be happy to deal with Azea, happy even to swear loyalty to that foreign empire and offer their unpopulated lands as a base of operations for future imperial expansion. All these things would Derleth do and more, in celebration of the wonder of discovering that there was life beyond the omnipresent canopy. And as soon as Azea sent them a worthy representative to work out the details, they could get started.

To the natives of the ice-planet the issue, of course, was simple. Their own young, in order to earn the right to live on the ice-fields, first had to prove that they could master them. And so one by one they crossed the southern wasteland, and one by one found death or renown somewhere along the journey. This also must be done by these strangers from beyond the gray sky.

Since the Derlethans a.s.sumed that all societies functioned along similar guidelines-as those on Derleth did-they did not understand the necessity of explaining their customs to the Azean visitors in their midst. Each amba.s.sador in his turn was taken to the eastern mountains and shown the deadly expanse of ice, glimmering unevenly in the filtered sunlight. The Derlethans a.s.sumed that one of them would offer to make the crossing, and were confused when none did. The amba.s.sadors, on the other hand, didn't understand what they had done-or not done-while standing on that mountain-peak to rate the designation "unworthy."

But Azea prided itself on its diplomatic skills and had the experience of a thousand populated planets to draw on. It soon became clear what the Derlethans expected, and just as clear that only a madman would go along with them.

The Empire searched, finally finding sportsmen who would take on the challenge. Derleth turned them away. This was not a game, the natives insisted; the one whom they accepted among them must be an individual trained for leadership, not exceptional endurance. Else how could they know that the Azean race was worthy of their attention?

The situation was aptly summed up by the last amba.s.sador to leave Derleth, who noted that the stubbornness of primitive peoples regarding their absorption into the Empire was in direct relation to how much the Azeans made fools of themselves while establishing diplomatic relations.

And the Director of Diplomacy looked elsewhere.

Who would be willing to face cold tedium and alien carnivores in service to the Empire? Taking into account that such people had already joined the ranks of Azean diplomats, ver Ishte was not optimistic. But he kept up the search and at last found a volunteer, a young part-alien woman enrolled, against all tradition, in Azea's Academy of Martial Sciences.

She was willing to go; that was of course the most important thing. Though she appeared frail, her record bore witness to exceptional stamina and a fiercely compet.i.tive nature. She had been trained, as all persons in the command program were, to adapt to any planetary conditions and to function well in the most primitive of situations. Derleth would certainly require both skills, and in excess.

All she asked in return was temporary Diplomatic status, which carried with it Imperial sanction. Ver Ishte shrugged and made out the proper records. The Council of Justice lodged some kind of formal protest which the Director of Diplomacy promptly deposited in the permanent exit file. This was his department and the only person who could order him around was the Director of StarControl herself, or, on rare occasion, the Emperor.