Braxi-Azea - In Conquest Born Part 4

She remembers him as he was on that day, an Azean like any other . . . only different. They are in the Hall of Music, awaiting the end of an intermission, and she stares at him as he speaks to her parents. His words are false. His clothes, even his golden skin is false, and his Azean eyes . . . they should be black, velvet black, a deep oblivion to house terrible secrets. He is deadly, fascinating, a predator in human guise, and when those eyes turn to gaze upon her and the full power of his person strikes her, she s.h.i.+vers. How could she explain to an adult what she sees? Who would believe her? What adult would credit such a fantasy- for fantasy it surely must be!-or realize that her latent psychic power, active now for the very first time, has pierced through this man's Azean facade to discover an intruder beneath?

He turns back to his prey, hungry for death, and hands her father a gla.s.s of lightwine. She senses the hunter's instinct, shares it for an instant, and is overwhelmed by its intensity. But she does not cry out. She does not warn her parents. They wouldn't believe her if she did, and for good reason. She must be wrong about this-she must!

The killer smiles, radiating triumph. As her father drinks his death.

I could have saved you! You could have been prepared. I should have said something-anything! I should have made you believe. You could have lived.

I killed you!

She crawls forward, feeling her way; guilt has smothered her senses until only touch remains to her. Struggling to move despite the darkness which strangles her, she reaches to where the Black Death still seethes, striving to embrace the fate of the ones she has killed with silence.

Take me! she begs.

But the poison is finished, inert. Dead. Powerless to claim another victim, no matter what the justice of that death might be.

In the distance, an infinity of hostile minds threaten to break into the newly sensitive awareness.

In desperation, she shuts them out forever.

"She knows she's vulnerable, and alone, and . . . hated. She blames herself for her parent's deaths. She recognizes the truth in what she saw but lacks the knowledge to interpret it. There's self-hate to be dealt with, guilt, possibly her mother's death-wish internalized, and then of course her own . . . an enormous undertaking."

The Director nodded, pouring more wine for him. The deadening sensation of the alcohol was slowly bringing the Probe back to verbal coherence even as it cut off his psychic senses.

It had taken five large gla.s.ses of the stuff just to-get him talking.

"Can you do it?"

Ferian hesitated. Took another drink. "You don't know what you're asking."

"What you were trained to do."

"I was trained to telecommunicate. I was trained to act like a Braxana." With a long swallow he drained the gla.s.s again. "A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, remember? The Ultimate Weapon. Send him to Braxi, let him spy for the Empire.

At least, that's what you told my mother when you convinced her to live with the memory of her rape long enough to bear me to term." He shuddered. "That child's mind is an inferno of self-destruction. Don't commit me to it unless you're ready to sc.r.a.pe up my ashes."

"Listen." The Director leaned forward, broadcasting a sense of urgency to accompany his words. "The state doesn't want her. They'll let the Inst.i.tute take her away and then forget she ever existed. Do you realize what that would mean?

There's never been a potential telepath like this one! Never an initial rating as high as hers, and certainly never full awakening without the usual p.u.b.escent triggers. d.a.m.n her parents!" he swore. "We tried over and over to tell them. Why wouldn't they respond? If we'd had her in training-"

"You wouldn't have started that early and you know it. As for her parents . . ."he sighed. "They've more than paid for any mistake they made regarding her. And yes, I think something of her mind can be salvaged." With an unsteady hand he refilled his gla.s.s. "Twist the guilt to anger, the inner-directed hatred to an outside focus . . . it could be done."

"What kind of focus?"

"Her father's a.s.sa.s.sin, I think." A predator with eyes of velvet death. He s.h.i.+vered. "Or his race, if that fails."

"Braxin?"

"I will a.s.sume so. She does." Braxana, he thought, and his stomach tightened as he relived their shared memory. How much of that fear had been hers, and how much his own? Those golden eyes that should have been black had seemed to pierce through to his very soul, and though Ferian's emotional reaction was not clothed in confusion as the child's had been, his a.s.sessment of lyu Tukone's a.s.sa.s.sin was much the same as hers. A man I hope never to meet, he told himself.

A man who is infinitely dangerous.

"Saturate her with hatred, then? Toward Braxi?"

He nodded, knowing as he did so that he was committing himself to the task.

"You're going to take quite a beating in this."

Ferian forced himself to laugh. "So what else is new?"

And again he drained the gla.s.s.

Harkur: Civilized man longs for the illusion of barbarism. Either his culture fulfills this need by adopting its outer trappings, or he will be seduced by his first contact with a culture that does.

Four.

In the darkness between the stars, a Purpose stirs. Guided by thought, powered by telepathy, it reaches outward from its creator-the Director of the Inst.i.tute- and seeks, in the psychosphere of Lugast, its first a.s.signed receptor.

Who responds.

~ This is Adran li Kasure. Lugastine telepath.

~ Director Nabu li Pazua, at the Inst.i.tute. I a.s.sume you've been briefed?

~ Minimally. You want a relay to Braxi?

~ Under my dominance.

~ (Image: Adran li Kasure nods.) Of course.

~ Prepare for subsumption.

The lesser mind relaxes, drifts . . . and is absorbed by that of its master, in power if not in personality. Again, the Director reaches Braxiward, strengthened by the support of his student.

And makes contact on Kiau, and establishes further relay.

And reaches for Ienda.

Suul.

Adrish.

Until he pierces at last, with a tendril of thought, the Holding itself.

And Braxi.

~ Ferian?

The response is faint, but it grows in intensity as the Braxana Probe focuses on the relay and adds his strength to the effort.

~ Yes, I'm receiving. Difficult, thought. Is this the best that can be done?

~ Regretfully.

~ It'll have to do, then. Here's the situation. They've bought my story entirely. I had to take a basic gene survey, but they were only interested in verifying my Braxana half; I don't think they've even got Azean codes on file. They confirmed the Braxana blood, although their science is so primitive they couldn't get it down to a specific bloodline. The end result of all this is that I've been pa.s.sed on as wholesome and acceptable, race-wise.

~ Good. Are you settled?

~ I liquidated my precious stores into local currency and took a place on Braxi proper, near Kurat, the upper-cla.s.s sector. With my Braxana appearance no one asks any questions here. I tell you, the a.s.similation has only two problems.

~ The language?

~ No, that's fine. It's too complicated and subtle to speak straight; I wouldn't know which of the forty-two speech modes to start with, much less be able to hold two conversations at once as some of them obviously do. But with a bit of receptive telepathy I usually manage to find the right mode-or cover it up if I don't. It's the food, mostly. (Sensory image: breakfast.) So highly spiced that it's really getting to me.

~ Hasha, I see what you mean.

~ And that was first thing in the morning. I'll spare you a look at dinner. They serve wine with everything, and I'll tell you. Braxin vintage wine may taste delicious but it's strong enough to fuel starliners. Seems they blend in a bit of pharmacopoeia, too: a dose of hallucinogen, maybe, or a mild aphrodisiac.

What you gave me in training was like water to this stuff! No wonder they die younger than we do.

~ What else?

~ (Evasiveness. Embarra.s.sment.) ~ Ferian. . . .

~ All right, all right, the women. What am I doing wrong? They're practically begging for s.e.x with me-it's a racist thing, you know-but I made the mistake of a.s.suming one might want to spend the night and was rewarded with some curses that . . . well, I'll spare you those, too. Evidently, I had dealt her Braxin honor some hideous blow. I've made some valiant efforts at being more violent, too, but all I get for that are more scratch marks. I hurt, Director.

~ Pain is a valid feeling, Ferian, remember that.

~ . . . And now that you remind me, d.a.m.n the Social Codes, too!

~ Any contacts yet?

~ A few householders of the Kaim'eri. and a young Braxana named Selek. I'm calling myself Feran, by the way, so please use that as a call sign, or I'll slip up sometime in the wrong company.

~ What's with this Selek?

~ He took me to the Museum of Erotic Art. (Involuntary image: a composed Braxana running a gloved hand down the thigh of a near-naked waitress.

Involuntary explanation: Museum restaurant. Selek.) We talked a bit. There's no concept of friends.h.i.+p here, you know, at least not between members of the same s.e.x. So how do I judge my relations.h.i.+ps? I mean, what kind of scale do you use? I'll I tell you one thing, though. I can see why they're not worried about spies-and they aren't, believe me. The only thing getting me through this is my telepathy. I can't see a non-FT managing to stay afloat here for more than a day. . . . Hasha. what I wouldn't do for a simple plate of scrambled eggs.

Unspiced.

~ It'll come, it'll come. Is that all?

~ For now. I've gathered our supposition was correct. The Braxana do have a pa.s.sionate distrust ofany non-material powers; hence the development of telepathv has not occurred. No one discusses it openly, but I gather an infant showing such talents is disposed of-the Braxana are big on infanticide, by the way. Keeps the Race superior. Anyway, I think I'm relatively safe. I'll open for relay at regular intervals, as we arranged.

~ Be careful.

~ I will.

~ Ferian? How's it going?

~ Fairly well. Who's on relay? It feels stronger.

~ Er Vlas picked up the last rung. He's a Probe, so you're sending abstract until the transmission gets into the Empire. Any news?

~ No. Just strengthening the contacts. Sechaveh set a useful precedent a few decades back, coming in out of nowhere and working his way up to Kaim'era status. I think they're less suspicious of me than they might have been before that. Selek has shown me Kurat and I'm somewhat known at his House, but little politicking goes on while I'm there, and nothing useful. He lent me the Mistress of his House-saucy little wench.

~ s.e.x life going any easier?

~ You get used to it.

~ How about food?

- That will take a bit longer. I met D'vra today. ~ Who?

~ Sorry, that's right, how could vou know? She's purebred. Mistress of the House of Yiril . . . here. (Image: a broad-shouldered, shapely woman, white- skinned and black-haired, arrogant, powerful, aggressively sensual. The world is dirt to her. When she enters a room, men come to silence. She drives any man-even an Azean-to a desperate daydream of conquest, but has the legal right to kill any who touch her against her will.) ~ That's really something.

~ Yeah. She seems to be interested in me, but I don't think I'm up to that.

Anyway, Yiril and two of the others have a kind of power triad that runs most of anything. Seems it's so rare for any of the Kaim'eri to unite on anything that a few of them sticking together can be very effective. I figure D'vra would be a good way to keep an eye on this trio, if I can work myself up to it.

~ Triad: Yiril, Vinir and Sechaveh?

~ No, they ousted Vinir a few years ago in favor of his son. There's a man I hope not to tangle with! (Image: Zatar. Undertone: nervousness.) He's controlled and deadly. The others indulge themselves in any violent or nasty emotion that strikes their fancy and thus overlook my irregularities. Somehow, I think he'd notice.

~ Do I sense fear?

~ (Evasively.) I'd rather not discuss it.

- All right. I won't press you. Safety first, remember; you do us no good at all if these men come to suspect you.

~ (Dry laughter.) Don't worry. Director. Self-preservation is the number one Braxana priority. I'm no exception.

~ Feran?

~ Honored to be your enemy. Director.

~ What's that?

~ Sorry, force of habit.

~ d.a.m.ned curious habit.