The Morcai Battalion: Invictus Part 10

He chuckled unexpectedly. "No. I have not."

She laughed softly, trying to imagine that outlandish scenario.

He drew her against him and held her there, his arms around her. "Tomorrow, we must start making inquiries," he said against her hair. "If the two we seek are actually here, it should not be too difficult to find them."

She was enjoying the closeness. Her life had been one of solitude, apartness. It was disturbing to find how much she liked being close to him.

He lifted his head and searched her eyes in the dim light on the balcony. His own eyes were a solemn blue. "You see things from a perspective which is not accurate," he said suddenly. "I am not as you see me, Madeline. There are secrets I keep, even now."

"Why?"

"It will do no good to discuss them," he said flatly. "What is, is."

"And that is as clear as mud," she muttered.

"A good a.n.a.logy," he replied.

"Smoke and mirrors is a better one," she said with a little of her old mischief. "You thought the humans would feel threatened if they knew how powerful your mind was, or how you fought. You were wrong.

Your crew would follow you off a cliff. I certainly would."

He traced her fine eyebrows. "The Cehn-Tahr have other traits, of which we never speak."

"This would have something to do with why the mating was in the dark and I wasn't supposed to touch you," she guessed, nodding when he lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "But I said at the time that my instruments and my senses told a different story about your physical makeup. I know you aren't what you seem."

"We do not reveal ourselves to outworlders."

"I'm not. I have temporary Cehn-Tahr citizenship and we are bonded," she reminded him.

"Bonded for a mission, Madeline," he replied quietly. "Only for a s.p.a.ce of days or weeks, however long it takes us to perform the task which brought us here. As you yourself wished, when we return, you will regress the child and have a short-term memory wipe. You will not remember any of this."

Her heart fell to her knees. She went cold in his arms. Yes, it had been her own request, one which she now regretted with all her heart.

"That makes no difference, either," he said softly. He could read her surface thoughts quite accurately.

Strange, how difficult it was to see deeper. He recalled his father's comment that she had been tutored in mind blocks. But there were few Cehn-Tahr who could have provided such counseling. He wondered who it was.

"Our laws are absolute," he added grimly, after a minute. "Even were the Species Act overturned, the inheritance laws are very much in place. No child of an outworlder will ever be able to inherit my t.i.tles or my lands. That is the law."

She felt vaguely nauseated. She often forgot the difference in their stations in life. He was an aristocrat.

She was a very lowly human soldier. She knew that it would be impossible for them to have the child, at any rate. Discovery would mean death, for both of them. She tried not to think of the future. But it pushed its way into the present constantly. She stepped away from him. "Sorry, sir," she said formally. "I wasn't thinking clearly."

He scowled. "Madeline, I did not mean it that way. Your social status has nothing to do with this."

She managed a smile. "Yes, but we're very different in background. Even if there were no laws, it would still be impossible. I'm going in. Sleep well, sir."

She turned and left him there, biting his own tongue for what he should never have put into words. He had not meant to hurt her. It was difficult, this changed status between them.

Days pa.s.sed in their search for Chacon. It was a small community, but it was quite possible for even a famous military commander to be hidden there. Dtimun was occupied with contacts who might be able to ascertain Chacon's whereabouts.

Meanwhile, Madeline had made friends with an elderly retired soldier who was living in the hotel she and Dtimun occupied. His name was Mardol, and he had all sorts of souvenirs of the battles he'd fought. One was an ancient sniper rifle which was his pride and joy. He didn't know Madeline's background, but when he told her about it, she showed interest in it.

She went with him to his quarters. He motioned her into his one good chair and pulled a heavy metal box out from under the sofa which doubled as his bunk. He opened it, displaying the vintage weapon.

"A Calback 220 Armonium sniper rifle!" she exclaimed. The old weapon was familiar to her. During her first a.s.signment, as an eight-year-old, she had won medals for her abilities as a sharpshooter. She was placed in strategic locations during battles to thin out the forward enemy patrols. Her skills as a sniper were formidable.

The old soldier gaped at her. "Why, yes," he said, surprised.

"It's in beautiful condition," she said, staring at it.

"I have not used it in many years," he said, "but I keep it properly cleaned."

"There's no power pack," she pointed out.

He chuckled. "I have no need of one. However, this weapon was made for innovations. It can use any power pack, including one from a chasat. What a pity they replaced it with that Ararom 520 sightscope.

This was efficiency at its best. They said it was too heavy." He scoffed. "Too heavy! The weight gave it stability! The least recoil can cost you a hit at great distances." He sighed. "Well, the old ways are gone. I suppose it is as well that the old weapons are gone, too." He closed the box and studied her. "How odd, to find a female who enjoys talk of war and weapons. How did you know the model of the rifle?"

"My father is in the military," she said, smiling. "I learned a lot from him, about weapons."

"I see. Was he attached to a sniper unit?" he asked.

"To a forward commando division, but not artillery. He's an airman."

"A fine a.s.signment," the old man said. "It is a great pity, to grow too old to be useful in war. I do miss the front lines, Lady Maltiche," he added, using the name she was called by covertly.

So do I, she thought, but she didn't say it. "Could you tell me again about that battle at Lefor Galt?" she asked instead. "It was quite exciting!"

He chuckled and put the gun away. "It would be my pleasure."

Dtimun found her still listening to the old man recite his combat history. He excused himself and said that Madeline must come to dinner with him.

"You are fortunate to have so knowledgeable a bonded companion," the old soldier told him. He smiled and shook his head. "I can understand why the two of you are here, in this place. You would surely die for your present condition, Lady Maltiche. It is only that I do not understand how you were able to breed..."

He stopped at Dtimun's expression. He said. "Forgive me. The modern world has pa.s.sed me by. I suppose the advances in biotech have been impressive. I have never heard of a Cehn-Tahr child which is part human."

"Nor has anyone else," Madeline laughed. "It will be a first."

"Indeed. A pity you must live here," the old man said, his smile fading. "It is not a place to raise a child.

They say the colonies on the Rim have persons who are outcast from their own societies. Might you not be able to settle there, beyond the reach of your respective governments?"

"That is a possibility," Dtimun replied quietly.

"It is sad when people who wish to be together are denied only for political reasons," the old soldier said.

"Still, there are ways around the law." He chuckled. "I know. I have found most of them."

Madeline laughed. So did Dtimun. "We must go." He held out his hand and Madeline slid hers into it.

"I enjoy our conversations," she told the old man.

"I enjoy them even more. There are not many persons who oblige an old warrior by asking to hear his tales of valor. You are a kind young woman."

"I do not oblige you," she pointed out. "I really enjoy the stories."

"Come back anytime," he told her. "You will be welcome." He glanced at Dtimun. "She knows a sniper kit when she sees one. She even knew the model!"

"I told him that my father was in the military," Madeline said quickly.

"Indeed. Good day," he told the old man respectfully.

"Good day."

Dtimun led her back out into the hall, but he didn't let go of her hand. "How is it that you are familiar with sniper rifles?" he queried.

She grinned. "My first a.s.signment was as a sniper," she told him. "I had the highest score in the division."

"How old were you?"

"Eight," she said.

He frowned. Even the Cehn-Tahr military did not accept boys until they were adolescent. "You had no childhood at all."

She flushed. "Well, we do what the state says we must," she told him. "Does Sfilla have the meal prepared already? I'm starved."

"She does." He studied her quietly. "You do not like discussing your past."

She grimaced. "It was regimented. I love the military," she added. "But it does seem improper to take children at such a young age and teach them how to kill." She shrugged, her eyes somber. "The Rojoks do it as well, though. Perhaps both races are barbaric."

He smiled. His fingers touched her cheek lightly. "War creates such barbarity." The smile faded. "The Cehn-Tahr, in our first days as an empire, practiced much worse barbarity than your own race."

"Your emperor did what he thought was best to secure the empire," she said simply. "Politics and military decisions very seldom mesh."

He nodded.

Her hand rested gently on her stomach. Her eyes were sad. "If the child could be born," she said hesitantly, "I wouldn't wish him a childhood like mine."

He smoothed his hand over her hair. "My own was quite regimented. Each day had its own strict routine.

I would not wish the child to follow such a pattern as my own." He smiled sadly. "In a different life, perhaps..." He let the thought trail away. His hand went back to his side. "We should go in."

She nodded. She went ahead of him down the corridor, past the crowded, busy shops with their duty free merchandise. Despite the danger of their situation, she enjoyed her pregnancy and the vast change in her turbulent relationship with her commander. She had never thought such things would be possible. She hadn't wanted to think about a child at all. Now, the child was the center of her world, and soon she would be forced to put it away, as she put away other dreams and hopes that were impossible.

"All things are possible, Madeline," he said in her mind. There was a mysterious joy in the mental whisper that puzzled her.

But Sfilla was already at the transport, motioning for them to hurry as she looked worriedly around.

"She thinks we're going to be captured and tortured," Madeline thought wickedly. "She sees plots everywhere."

"Humor her," he said. "She is a fine cook."

"I have to agree." She'd never cooked anything in her life, except for a.s.sorted exotic wildlife over campfires when on campaign. Food served a purpose-it wasn't supposed to be enjoyable.

Sfilla's dishes were spicy and flavorful and truly wonderful to eat. Madeline thought that she was growing far too used to gourmet living. It would be difficult to go back to soldiering, now, after even this brief interlude. Her mindset had changed, and she had softened, in a way, become more vulnerable.

"It is the child which makes you feel vulnerable," he said gently, still in her mind. "The influence of hormones."

She laughed softly. "I suppose so." She glanced up at him as they neared the transport. He was very handsome. She thought that she would never tire of looking at him.

He glanced at her and his eyes went green. She flushed and ran ahead, to dive into the transport ahead of him. She really had to spend more time working on her mind blocks. And soon!

In the night, the child moved with fury. Another growth spurt bent her over double in the bed. It frightened her. She had never felt so alone, or so afraid. She got out of bed and looked out the insulated window, one hand on the child as she fought down her fear. It would be all right. She'd taken the drug Caneese had made for her. It would work. The child would be all right.

The pain came again. She closed her eyes against it. She was a combat soldier. She'd seen death, even dealt it early in her military career. It was absurd, to feel so frightened, especially for a child she could not even keep.

The air in the room stirred behind her, and she felt Dtimun's hands on her shoulders before she knew of his presence. She jumped involuntarily.

"Forgive me," he said gently as he turned her. "I did not mean to startle you."

He moved like a cat, she thought. He was wearing a sort of pant-skirt, like the Kahn-Bo uniform the Cehn-Tahr wore when they sparred aboard ship, except of a softer fabric, and his feet and his broad, muscular chest were bare. It was the way he had been dressed in the mating chamber just before the physicians arrived. Her eyes registered how attractive he was, although she tried not to let it show.

He was looking, too. Her long, reddish-gold hair curled around her face and over her shoulders. In the soft blue sleeping robe she wore, she looked younger.

"The child's movements disturb you," he said in his deep voice, while somber blue eyes looked down into her green ones. "But you bear the uneasiness alone, thinking it a weakness to seek comfort from me."

She looked straight ahead, at the thick hair wedged over the muscular, pale gold skin of his chest. "I'm all right." She shifted. "I know that Cehn-Tahr males don't share a room with their mates."

He raised an eyebrow arrogantly. "Sfilla has been talking to you," he said with faint disapproval.

"It's okay, sir," she said with a hint of her old mischief. "I told her that she must not share details of familial behavior with me, because I was an outworlder. She looked quite shocked."

He shook his head. His eyes flashed green. "I would have told you, had you asked. However, since you and I have broken so many protocols of behavior already, I hardly think one more will matter."

And as he spoke, he bent and scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to his own suite of rooms without another word.

He placed her on the huge round bed with its luxurious Yomuth-hair cover and propped her up against several silken pillows at the carved imported Seti marble headboard. "Move over," he said, and he climbed in beside her to sit, cross-legged, beside her.

He reactivated his virtual displays and was immediately surrounded by colorful controls and a vortex that resolved into a weapon.

"That's a VX3-Mexcache," she murmured, indicating the rapid-fire rail gun.