Braxi-Azea - In Conquest Born Part 32

Ganos-Tagat was a paired city united across the Dipa River on the far side of the globe; as I had suspected, predominantly third cla.s.s. So it didn't surprise me when my writer showed up in a rainbow a.s.sortment of colors that would have caused brain damage in any optically oversensitive species.

I welcomed him and offered him wine; he hesitated, then realized that the vintage in question was from a Tagattan winery, and accepted, smiling. I wondered what it was about Braxana wine that disturbed him.

"I'm ready to answer your questions," I told him. I was feeling particularly amiable, and was anxious to make him feel at ease.

He took out styla and magnapad and then, with a last sip of the wine to stimulate his creativity, began a series of inquiries that were at best predictable and at worst extremely tedious. I was just beginning to wonder if this had been such a good idea after all when he finally came around to what I gathered was the main point of the interview.

"There's great interest in the question of Azean s.e.xuality. Now, we know their propaganda-we know their ideals, and what they would like to believe about themselves. But how much of that is actually true?"

"What, specifically, would you like to know?"

"They are monogamous?"

"Entirely."

"I think you can understand that most Braxins find that incredible. Azeans have one mate only for their entire lives. Can you say with any certainty that they're never bored?"

I shrugged. "I imagine they are, sometimes."

"But they don't seek experiences outside the pairbound?"

"Not s.e.xually, no." I thought I saw what he was driving at-but I also felt that something else was there, something he was leading up to for which this was mere introduction.

"Pardon, my Lord, but how can that be? We're members of the same species, aren't we? And no Braxin would be capable of tolerating such continual frustration."

I smiled. "They don't find it frustrating. You must remember that they redesigned their own race. The s.e.x drive can easily be controlled through inwomb genetic manipulation. They really have no desire for s.e.xual pleasure outside of the 'proper' circ.u.mstances."

"But they must have some . . . special outlet within the context of the pairbond."

"I don't know exactly what you're asking." In truth, his questions had become rapidly more obscure as we delved deeper into this particular subject. Did my interviewer have a taste for Azeans-was that it?

"All human beings require variety," he offered.

"All human beings in their natural state," I agreed. "Azeans aren't the product of evolution, but of man's will."

He chewed that over for a few silent moments. "Nevertheless," he insisted, "s.e.xual desire is a basic human drive, and man's hunger for variety is hardly something that can be excised in a laboratory."

I was amused by his insistence. Yes, I suppose to the native Braxin mind it's a very difficult thing to believe, but I had known too many Azeans to doubt it.

"What do you suppose they do about it, then?"

He was startled; clearly that was his question to ask. When he collected himself, he offered possibilities hesitantly, as if watching me for some cue that he was on the right track. 'Isn't there some sort of ... ritual? To help, ah, postpone desire?"

"Is there?" I asked innocently.

"You lived among them, Lord, not I."

"True. But I must tell you that I never heard of any such thing."

"Not any kind of . . ." he faltered. It was becoming clear what his true interest was in all this and I was trying not to smile too broadly. "Is pairbonded pleasure so intense then that it's worth waiting for? That everything else pales in comparison?"

I almost burst out laughing. The man evidently believed that the secret of Azean s.e.xual moderation lay in some special pleasure that made the whole system worthwhile. The thought of two Azeans spending their spare time trying to perfect the s.e.x act was almost more than I could take with a straight face. The fact that Azeans desired their mates in moderate doses and felt no longing for anyone else was hardly a mystery, but a simple combination of hormone cycles, olfactory impressions, and similar biochemical triggers which Azean science was perfectly capable of controlling. I did not, however, laugh out loud, but managed control as I said quietly, "I don't believe so, Supal."

He did not look disappointed; that was the frightening thing. He looked almost angry, as though he felt I was holding something back from him. "It's common knowledge that the Azeans consider their s.e.xual experiences superior to ours."

"I've never heard that." Indeed, the only people I ever heard brag like that were the Braxana.

Ar, but he was persistent! "The nature of a lasting exclusive relationship is inherently different than that which exists between two people drawn together only for pleasure, and only for the moment."

"I can't tell you," I said frankly. "I've never had a lasting exclusive relationship."

"But you have known those who have."

Telepaths? Hardly! "I was kept very isolated, Supal. I had little contact with the purebred Azean community. I'm sorry, but I really can't help you on this."

He seemed annoyed with me. I think that had I not been a Braxana he might have freely accused me of lying to him and demanded either the information he wanted or the return of his bribe. I could not, however, give him the first, and I had no intention of giving him the second. To my mind I had complied with our bargain perfectly. And I was growing tired of him, besides.

Therefore I continued: "If you have no further questions for me, then I suggest we terminate this interview." But I felt sorry for him, so I added, "I really don't know where you're getting these rumors from, but I a.s.sure you there's no truth to them whatsoever."

He tried to resurrect his warm, respectful smile, but I could sense the irritation just beneath the surface. "I thank you for your time then, Lord Feran. You've been of immense help to me."

Smoothly lied, I thought. I returned the favor. "I'm sorry I couldn't answer all your questions more thoroughly, Supal. If you come up with anything else," (like a different subject matter, I thought) "you may come by."

The minute I said that I regretted it; this feeling was confirmed by the gleam in his eye as he contemplated annoying me again. Taz'Hein, I thought, I might never be rid of him! But then reason intervened: why should he return, when clearly I either could not or would not tell him what he wanted to know?

So I saw him out, and thought that was our final parting.

Ha!

BAND THREE.

Sechaveh explained to me once about guilt-how it's a pointless, invalid emotion, one of the most crippling and useless things which man in his folly ever created. Braxanci are immune to it (and to its brethren, regret and sorrow). Or at least, they try to be.

When hand comes to glove, I'm afraid I'm less than purebred. The point is that I felt badly over what had happened that day. Whenever I touched the mindgem (not too frequently, for fear it would awaken my buried senses), I thought of him and of his determination to uncover this great Azean secret that he was so certain existed. He was a fool and an ignorant one, but I felt sorry for him. And since he gave me a thing of such value I regretted that I could not in turn satisfy his quest for knowledge.

There are times one is better off being a callous, mean son-of-a-slimemold, and this was one of them. Unfortunately, I didn't realize it at the time.

Supal returned to my House three days later and sought audience with me; having given him permission to come I did not feel it was proper to turn him away.

He had more information with which to stimulate my memory, and after quickly running through the demands etiquette imposed upon us got right down to business. "See, there is this book, Lord." He handed me a metallic plate barely larger than my palm, which I turned over and studied without determining its contents. I was so accustomed to the rings of the upper cla.s.ses that I wasn't even certain my House had a reader for this. But I asked, and it did. It was sent. Mean- while, he explained. "Bagar son of k.u.must explains very clearly how the nature of Azean society mandates some form of s.e.xual ritual to channel libidinous energies properly."

I said nothing. My guilt was rapidly evaporating and my irritation resurfacing.

The book-I call it that lightly, although it had the form-was a never-ending compendium of pseudopsychological tripe intended to convince the reader that beneath the calm, serene surface of Azean s.e.xuality lurked a world of dark ritual and alien indulgence. As a brief example the following will do: How is it that a people can so totally deceive not only their neighbors but, apparently, themselves as well? For it seems at first glance that the Azeans genuinely believe their protestations of "moderation," and are themselves convinced that their ancestors' science rid the race of its undesirable human traits-foremost among which was, of course, the constant human hunger for s.e.xual stimulation.

A close examination of the science of s.e.xual mnemonics offers interesting insights into this seeming paradox. What if the indulgences practiced in Azean ritual release are genuinely forgotten between the times of their occurrence? Is it possible that complex subliminal symbology could be used to separate the daily (or "moderate") persona from that which is free to experience the full range of human excess?

I looked at him in frank disbelief. It said much for his fanaticism that he misread me entirely.

"You see, I know. I know, Lord Feran. And surely you must have seen it going on around you, all those years you spent in the Empire. Surely you must have known something of their ways!"

I said it very slowly and very carefully, to make certain I was understood. "What this book proposes is nonsense. Totally unfounded, absolute nonsense. I have never seen anything that would allow for such rituals existing and I firmly believe that never in the modern history of Azea has anything been practiced which would even remotely resemble the ritualized indulgences this book talks about.

Do you understand me?"

"I hear your words," he said sullenly. Apparently he had been convinced that his knowledge of the Great Azean Secret would be enough to get me to open up to him. "And I see you still won't talk to me."

"We have nothing to say to each other", I told him firmly. "And having determined that, I will now ask that you leave here, and take this . . . book with you."

I flipped the plate disdainfully through the air and he caught it, angered by my stubborn denial of his convictions (not to mention my outright rejection of his presence). In fury he left me, and I thought I had seen the last of him. Certainly I hoped so.

It was not to be so easy.

Two days later I encountered him outside the Observatory in Kurat; it took just a moment to brush him aside, it's true, but the contact marred an otherwise bright day and I was moody for the rest of it. Soon his compatriots were appearing wherever I did and, far more annoying, insinuating themselves into the property adjoining mine, so that wherever I went and whenever I returned home I was treated to a brief summary of: 1) their sincerity, 2) their deserving natures, and 3) my own unfairness. Needless to say I was tempted to point out that "fairness" is not a particularly desirable trait among the Braxana, but I was certain that any conversation would only encourage them, so I said nothing.

It finally reached the point where I couldn't stand it anymore. It wasn't only their presence, or their insistence on disturbing my peace (which I valued highly and worked to maintain), but the rank stupidity which they represented that I just couldn't stand witnessing over and over again. I asked them to leave. (They ignored me.) I threatened them. (They were frightened, true, but still didn't budge.) I was the One Possible Link between them and their imagined world of s.e.xual mysticism, and they refused to leave me alone. Never talk to fanatics in the first place, or you may be stuck with them forever.

I even tried to find some legal loophole that would allow me to get rid of them, but to my surprise there was nothing useful. Finally, frustrated and angry (would that there were rituals to ease the strain of such emotions!) I turned to that bastion of Braxana intolerance: my father.

Sechaveh has always welcomed me, more to irritate his purebred children, I think, than for any other reason. I'm never quite certain of his motives, therefore I'm usually wary when accepting advice from him. This matter was right in his glove, however, so I didn't hesitate to seek him out.

I explained my problem as well as I could. (No specifics on the mindgem, no mention of my own emotional trauma, minus the kinder words and plus quite a few harsher ones.) Although as a son I shouldn't be turning to him for such things, he took a personal pride in keeping my Braxana side dominant-perhaps because it proved the superiority of his genes over my mother's. Whatever the reason, I told him all the parts of this story that were acceptably Braxana, and he a.s.sumed that was the whole of it.

When I was done he smiled, the expression of a man who is never without an appropriate answer. "Simple," he told me. "You kill them."

I wasn't quite sure whether he was answering me or trying to bait me; this is the usual state of our relationship. "Kill them?"

"You wear the sword," he pointed out.

"But how-"

"Draw and cut. Surely I don't have to explain killing to you, Feran."

I scowled. "I know how to kill."

Do you? his expression dared me. "Then do so."

"And the law?"

He laughed. "Law? What law? You're a member of the first cla.s.s, Feran, fully halfbred and ent.i.tled to all the Braxana prerogatives. They bother you? Dispatch them! They irritate you? Dispatch them slowly, and exact your revenge. Don't worry about the law. n.o.body's going to prosecute you; if someone tries, the Kaim'eri will cut him down as quickly and efficiently as your sword will cut through these pseudo-scientists of yours." He paused, then offered in a cloying tone, "I could take them out on Whim Death for you."

"No," I answered. "That's hardly appropriate." My father, invoke Whim Death on behalf of his offspring? Socially unacceptable, and I knew it. And he knew I knew. "No. I'll deal with it myself."

He smiled, and I realized I had been tested. Walking me to the door, he offered me encouragement and a few effective cuts and thrusts which would disable an opponent without killing him immediately. Teach these men a lesson, he prompted, and show them once and for all that none of their kind will be tolerated.

And learn a lesson myself? I thought. I thanked him and left, committing myself to nothing. I should have antic.i.p.ated that he would counsel me toward violence-but then, so would any other traditional Braxana. So why did it bother me? Perhaps I resented his attempt to manipulate me because it implied I was no better than the mindless souls he usually practiced his influence upon. No, if Sechaveh was trying to force me to play a more violent role, then one thing was certain: I would search for an alternative.

BAND FOUR.

I presented the matter to Lina. That's one of the first things you learn in Braxana society; when you have run out of ideas yourself, consult a woman. More specifically, consult your Mistress.

I did so.

We've never cared much for politics, Lina and I, so I was quite surprised when she responded to my narrative with a straightforward, "We can look into his motives," and proceeded to outline a course of action which depended upon an involved network of informants in the news and publishing industries. I must have looked as surprised as I felt, for she smiled. "It shouldn't take very long."

It didn't. A mere tenth pa.s.sed, during which time she must have waded through the whole of the Central Computer System, for the list of men she brought to me was connected to my tormentor by what seemed to me to be the most tenuous of ties. Nevertheless, she explained to me, one of these individuals was probably responsible for conning Supal into his recent course of action.

"Can we find out which one?"

Since I don't often play the political games-at least, not as viciously as my countrymen-Lina has never compiled the kind of records that would allow for that type of research. It requires a private spy network, for one thing, something that neither of us saw the need for. Until now.

"With help," she said at last.

"Whose?"

"Another Mistress."

I had a sudden vision of all the Mistresses of our Houses collaborating in a giant network of domestic espionage. . . . No. Even women don't trust each other that much. But still, the thought that while we men were at each other's throats the women who were running our Houses were cooperating in such a way seemed . . .

well, unwholesome. "Go on," I urged her.

"Who do you trust?"

"In Kurat?" I asked, using the Ironic Mode.

"Let me rephrase: Who can I turn to? Conversely, is there a particular House you don't want me to consult?"

It came to me immediately, and I could feel that old familiar coldness settle in my insides as I said the name. "Zatar. Under no circ.u.mstances do we admit vulnerability to anyone connected with that House. You understand?"

She did; she has lived with me long enough to know how nervous that man makes me, and offered a few other names for my consideration. A handful of one and a gloveful of the other, I told her. She could chose.

She chose Darak. The name meant nothing to me. But we must have help from some quarter and she thought that his Mistress would have the information she needs. Go, I told her. Do it.

We would have to chance the consequences.

BAND FIVE.

The trail leads back to Sechaveh.

My own father!

Now that I consider it, it makes sense. That G.o.dblessed motherloving . . . how could he? How could he?

Calm, Feran. Calm. You know the way he operates. You know he enjoys manipulating people. Look at the way he treats his pureson, Turak; why should you be any different?

Yes, but why. . . .

He set the whole thing up. The whole blessed thing! Why? To force me to kill?