Braxi-Azea - In Conquest Born Part 27

"I don't believe she can be killed at the Border. They're having a hard enough time trying to contain her forces; I don't think they'll be able to destroy the Conqueror itself. But StarControl enforces periodic ground leave on a regular basis. Eventually, Anzha lyu Mitethe will leave her ship."

"You propose a raid?"

"An a.s.sa.s.sination. Slip one man into the Empire, where they least expect a Braxin to be."

"Security is tighter than it once was," Yiril pointed out. "Because of you."

"I did it once, and I believe it can be done again. The Azeans are blind to the concept of racial impersonation. They don't live with the variety of humankind that we do; they're not accustomed to looking at strangers and trying to deter- mine their origin. Their racial instinct dictates that anything which looks Azean and acts Azean is, in fact, Azean. The only risk would come in the presence of Security personnel, but that's a very small part of the overall picture. A necessary risk."

"You would go yourself," Sechaveh said suddenly.

"Of course. Who else could manage it?"

Viril was clearly skeptical. "You were younger the last time. More adaptable.

And you had less to lose."

"How long will it take?" Sechaveh asked.

"Two to three years, I estimate. That includes time to master the a.s.similation and an approach route that circles back around the Empire, to a lightly guarded border. Say three."

"Three years without an appearance at the Citadel," Sechaveh mused. "It would mean tremendous political loss."

"Kaim'eri-we're in this together, or not at all. Listen to what I propose: I'll go to the Empire and deal with this woman. You, in the meantime, have two to three years in which to work on the other Kaim'eri. Take control of the War advisory and its reports. Alter them if necessary! Play on your colleagues' fears. The threat's real enough, and falls in line perfectly with Braxana mythology. Most of these men are more superst.i.tious than they would ever admit; I believe they can be manipulated through that weakness.

"We all accept that the current division of power is self-defeating. Offer an alternative-a small body of men to deal with threats of this magnitude.

Figurehead positions, at first. What we need is to establish the precedent."

"And you, playing Savior of the Holding-"

"They would never elevate me alone; the Braxana mind doesn't think that way.

There would have to be others to help me wield the power-the two of you-and an equal number of those opposed, to balance it. And one uncommitted Kaim'eri to give us a prime number. Seven in all. Does that sound reasonable?"

"A High Kaim'erate, in other words." Yiril was thoughtful. "We've considered it before, you know."

"Exactly. With you laying the groundwork and me supplying the catalyst, it could work."

"The threat is good," Sechaveh said. "The timing is certainly right. It would require the proper showmanship. . . ."

"Ah, yes." Zatar resumed his seat; his eyes were shining as he picked up his gla.s.s again. "The necessary melodrama. How would this be for a climax, Kaim'eri-the terrible Anzha lyu Mitethe dying the Black Death right before our very eyes, in a Truce Station, with her people unable to help her?"

Sechaveh smiled. "I'd say that might do it."

"Or nothing will," Yiril agreed. "If, as you say, the right ground were laid for it. .

"That," the young Kaim'era told them, "is your job."

2.

Dayshift was over.

Alone on the observation deck, Anzha lyu Mitethe regarded the star-studded blackness. On the level below, a room full of instruments measured the nature and extent of that empty vision. But they could not capture its majesty, she thought, more than this simple observation.

Breathing deeply, she let her senses reach out into the darkness. Far off and to the right the consciousness of a planet's population radiated psychic warmth and she identified it: Ikn. Farther still, almost farther than she could reach, focused hostility marked the War Border. There: the familiar touch of her colleagues, well-intentioned but mired in tradition. And there, beyond them: points of violence in the darkness, singing of blood and death and the ecstacy of violence, surrounded by minds that could never share their music. Braxins. When the Conqueror came closer, she would be able to pinpoint specific ident.i.ties, and begin to chart their locations; for now, there was only the welcome caress of their hatred, spread out across the stars.

With a sigh, she limited her awareness to the ship. Ground leave was a necessity, but she would be glad to get back to the Border. Her stop on Adrish had done more harm than good. Hopefully, it had accomplished better things for her crew. She suspected that most of them felt the way she did, and would rather not leave the War at all. There was so much to do, and time was precious. . . .

A quick walk took her from the deck. The dayshift crew was settling into public rooms or private quarters, to eat or rest or amuse themselves as individual tastes would have it. She made her way through tubes and corridors to a door which beckoned "GYM II" and opened at her approach.

It was hers. Not in fact, for the great ship's gyms were open to all, but in atmosphere. Its close confines had been dominated by the barbaric decor she had added-racks of bladed weapons, modern and antique, sharp and blunted; scores of feather-tipped projectiles and bows to give them flight; staves and slings and even some weapons alien to the Empire, as well as from all cultures within it. The interest which Yumada had encouraged had become an obsession; there was something in the games of death that suited her nature as no other pastime could.

She chose a matched set of throwing daggers and the gym, obliging, supplied the proper target. They were from Rahn, the gift of a grateful people in return for her timely support. She smiled as she tested their balance. She had never publi- cized her hobby-she didn't have to. Merchants combed the galaxy for the bladed remnants of barbarism and sold the best of it, if not to her, to those who would seek to please her.

The first dagger cut through the air and into the target, a hand's width from the center.

She frowned. Slipping. The second was closer, but the third, overcompensating, split the edge of the small target and lodged in the wall.

"Not your best day."

She turned to find her private medic leaning, smiling, against the portal.

Reflexively she did a surface a.n.a.lysis- shallow good humor, underlying tension, something trying to communicate and not knowing how to start. Violence? Fear?

No, that must be the weapon-a.s.sociations, and her own frustration-not Tau.

"I've had better. Thought you had work to do?"

"I do. You're it. Can we talk?"

"Go ahead."

"Alone." That something inside him was looking for ... an environment to inspire it. The gym wasn't right. What was, she couldn't read without violating telepathic etiquette.

"My rooms?"

"Fine."

She studied his surface emotions as they walked. Hesitation, apprehension.

Why? In many ways that little was worse than knowing nothing at all.

Her personal seal on the door seemed redundant in light of the Conqueror's security and he had often remarked on it. Now he said nothing. Even his thought pattern projected an unnatural stillness; clouds, drawing together before the storm.

Setting people at their ease had never been her forte. She waited.

"It's about the medical probe on Adrish."

She said nothing. Her face, well trained, betrayed nothing more than politely concerned curiosity.

"As you know, the Adris.h.i.te Elders requested my counsel on an unusual autopsy. They thought my unique experience might be of value."

"So you said at the time."

"I didn't complete the procedure."

Her face darkened. "You should have told me this insystem. Stellar rank gives you the right-''

"I wasn't stopped, Starcommander. I chose not to continue. The studies they showed me were enough to confirm certain unpleasant suspicions I'd had for some time, suspicions I dared not put to the test for fear the Elders would come to draw similar conclusions. And I wanted us to get away before I talked to you. I was. . . ."

She voiced his thought. "Afraid."

"Yes." He hesitated, his mind working loudly to find the right approach. "I think it will be clearer if I describe the case."

"Then please do." Overly polite? She would have to watch herself.

"The man was-had been-Seru Che-Li." He seemed to be watching her for a reaction, but she revealed nothing. "An outlaw whom they would have killed if they could have caught him. Ruthless, vicious-a cold-blooded killer with an explosive temper who prided himself on being wanted in every human system."

"I know the type." Too well. "Go on."

"He died five nights ago; the authorities found his body and arranged for an autopsy. What they discovered confused them. It was as though he had suffered a sudden injury to his brainstem; a number of functions necessary to maintain life had simultaneously-and mysteriously-ceased to work. Yet there was no damage to the brain. At least, no physical damage. They wanted to discuss with me the possibility that some psychological element was responsible. They wanted to know how that would be reflected in his physiology."

"They should have called the Inst.i.tute for a.s.sistance."

"They did. It was the obvious course. And they were refused, or rather, delayed indefinitely. Which amounts to much the same thing. Your Inst.i.tute isn't blind, Anzha. A man's mind doesn't burn itself out without good provocation. You tell me he died of fear, despair, even self-disgust, I'll show you signs of it in the chemical balance of his brain.

Normal emotion doesn't kill without leaving any evidence. Telepathy, however, can."

"Accusation?" she snapped. Too fast, too defensive-she regretted it even as it was voiced.

"I've seen the records," he said quietly. "Leviren, Kei San, others. You killed them. I know."

She was deathly still. "You've drawn some rather hasty conclusions."

"No. You weren't as careful at first, which leads me to believe that at least then it wasn't premeditated. I saw you with Leviren myself. Easy enough to call up an obituary when you have Imperial status: Sudden death, cause uncertain. The morning after we broke light for the Border. Then Arvaras-you had mentioned him to me, remember? After that one, you stopped talking. They got harder to trace, but never impossible. Once I had begun to connect such deaths with your ground leave, the rest came easily."

"There is no proof." Her voice was cold, belying the fire which those memories awakened. d.a.m.n you! she thought.

"I want to help."

"It's not your concern."

"I'm your a.s.signed medic-it is my concern."

"There's nothing you can do!"

"Let me judge that for myself."

"Tau-"

"What do you want from me, Anzha? A triple-sealed affidavit attesting to my loyalty to you? I've been with you on this ship for five years now. I know what you're capable of. If you told me tomorrow that you had turned into some mythical creature that had to devour a human being a day to survive . . . Hasha knows, I'd probably help you hide the bodies. The good you've done is measured in planets, the people you've helped in billions.What are six individuals compared to that?"

Taken aback by his vehemence, she quickly reappraised him. "I never realized you were so cold-blooded."

"Single-minded. That's why they picked me for this job, you know-anyone less stubborn than that you would have turned into your doormat before you let him get a good look at that d.a.m.ned precious anatomy of yours, much less your mind."

Despite herself she smiled; he was right. "Well struck."

She took a moment to settle the tightness in her stomach and partially succeeded.Why do you want my confidence in this, she wondered. To help me- as if you really could? Or to learn my ways as they ordered you to do, so that Azea might have all my secrets?

The last thought was unworthy of him and she knew it. Turning away to hide her discomfort, she offered quietly, "It wasn't meant to happen. It won't happen again. Let that be enough."

"And if charges are brought against you?"

She was scornful. "Who would accuse me of civilian murder?"

"The first member of the Council of Justice who thought he could pin the charge on you." He waited. "Well struck?"

He had sliced through her armor and emotion stirred in the wound. Longing, and frustration, and the need for human contact.

With whom, if not him? He offered support. His concern seemed genuine. Why couldn't she accept it?

"You don't know what you're asking for." She caught the promise of defeat in her own voice, foresaw the collapse of those barriers which had always protected her from the judgment-and scorn-of others.

"Try me," he challenged.

She studied him inside and out, deeper than she had ever done before. His offer gave her the freedom to reach inside him, to evaluate his confidence, and she used the opportunity to uncover those facets of him which telepathic etiquette had previously cloaked in privacy. He met her with openness, and with frank display of his motives. Concern. Curiosity. Friendship. She tasted the last with care, and despite its alien tone it struck a responsive chord within her. I need to talk, she thought, and here at least is acceptance.More than that she would not consider.

"What do you know," she asked hesitantly, "of telepathic contact within the pairbond?" She could be no clearer than that without speaking of the matter outright, and expected only his confusion. Yet he seemed to understand what she meant.

"It's said that in the course of s.e.xual contact, telepaths experience an extreme degree of linkage-with or without pairbonding," he stressed. He would accept her; that was the underlying message. If she lacked the pairbonding instinct which was an Azean's birthright, she would of course seek her pleasure elsewhere. He took it for granted.

She had never antic.i.p.ated that.

"You know the process?" she pressed, relieved that she might not have to explain everything.

He shrugged, but his eyes were focused upon her. "Hearsay."

"The Inst.i.tute didn't prepare you?"