Braxi-Azea - In Conquest Born Part 8

With seeming confidence, the girl descended from the stands to the outer edge of the Circle and waited.

Darian custom forbade any non-Bloodletter from observing the Sharing. Of course, some did-it wasn't hard to do. But no one would dare watch from out in the open, least of all descend to the actual arena.

Apparently some of the Bloodletters were arguing the same point. One of the oil-bearers pointed at her in fury and directed a scathing tirade at the victor, who merely shrugged. Another spoke more softly yet seemed to have a similar objection to her presence.

But with a wave of his reddened hand Laun Set silenced them all. What he said to them, Torzha could not hear and would not have understood. Yet when he gestured first toward the girl and then toward the fallen Bloodletter, his language was universal.

The Darians avoided her as she entered the Circle, some respectfully, some in fury. Even Torzha was stunned as the child knelt by the bleeding body, speaking the ritual words (she presumed) and cupping her hands to catch the alien blood.

Laun Set stood over her like a guardian, challenging with his reddened eyes anyone who might interfere.

Then it was over and the girl withdrew, as the others had, to the side of the Circle. The Sharing continued despite the interruption. One by one the Bloodletters tasted the essence of the Fallen. Some spoke softly to Laun Set before or after and a few expressed their anger more openly, but all, save one, drank. That one had apparently been insulted beyond his capacity for tolerance by her partic.i.p.ation and he left without touching the loser's body. He was wounded, Torzha deduced from the bandage on his hand, and perhaps his temporary inability to compete made his temper shorter than usual.

The girl left with the victor, a part of the informal court that surrounded him. It was not a good time for Torzha to approach her, so she set an aide on her trail to determine her business and some way of finding her again.

Which, Torzha thought, was just as well. She needed time to think this over.

7.

The image of Director Ebre ni Kahv wavered briefly, then stablized as military relay was synchronized. That was one benefit of working for StarControl, Torzha thought; insync communication was next to impossible without such a relay.

"I have good news for you," he told her. "Our negotiators have managed a conditional Peace in your sector. So you can continue your work on Dari without feeling that you should be back at the Border."

Torzha was amused. "Were you going to withdraw me from service here just because of the War?"

"No-but now you don't have to worry about it." He waved her objection to silence. "I know you, Torzha. Don't tell me it hasn't bothered you to be planetbound while we fought for Oria."

"Just because I was senior officer in that sector is no reason to a.s.sume I wanted to be there."

"Sarcasm acknowledged. Now how do I get you to train someone else in that d.a.m.nable Braxin culture so I don't have to beg for peace every time we need you somewhere else?"

"Send some free time my way."

"Out of my own stock of it?-are you ever going to sponsor, Torzha?"

She sighed. The question and its answer had become a ritual with which she was too familiar. "Yes, Ebre. Someday soon. As soon as a suitable person turns up."

"Suitable people do not 'turn up'-they're found. Start looking. The system exists for a reason, you know. It'll give you something to do in Peacetime. Now, as for the present problem: we've picked up another transmission."

She leaned forward, alert. "Tell me you have the hemisphere of receipt."

"I'll do you one better. It was timed to hit surface when the smaller continent in the northern hemisphere came into the line of transmission. How's that?"

She exhaled dramatically. "Ebre, there can't be more than a hundred suspects in that area."

"If you can't handle it-"

"I wasn't being facetious. That's a workable number. It's the capital continent, Bit Nua-San-you do mean that one, don't you?"

"That's the name I've got."

"There aren't that many Circles here-not to mention my own base of operations is right there-Ebre, I owe you dinner on Ikn."

"You can't afford it."

"Since when?"

"Not at the restaurant I'm thinking of. But if you can clean up this matter without losing us Dari, I'll take you there myself. Now, on to this other matter. . .

."He frowned. "Is it really important?"

"Is it a problem?"

He sighed. "Yes and no. The Inst.i.tute is always a problem. I've dealt with them before, remember. Quite frankly, if they disappeared tomorrow, I wouldn't waste more than a minute on regret. Fanatics, all of them-I don't trust them, Torzha, and I don't think you should either. The degree to which their current Director is blind and deaf to military procedure is exceeded only by his pa.s.sion for secrecy.

Sometimes I wish he would interfere with Security, so that I could get Imperial sanction to squeeze his d.a.m.ned secrets out of him.

"Now as for this girl: just how important is she? Does she have any real bearing on the matter at hand?"

"I believe she may be looking for our Braxin."

Said simply, it had the desired effect. "If that's the case . . . Hasha! The breach in security that implies-"

"Is alarming, I know. And just as threatening as the spy himself. Tell me: is there anything to keep the Inst.i.tute from . . . say, eavesdropping on military communication?"

"A dozen and a half things-and none of them certain. Custom and etiquette, mostly. Actually, now that you mention it, nothing we can rely on."

She sighed. "So we've no idea what she's after, or how much she knows, or who, if anyone, is backing her. She could interfere with my work-blow the whole thing wide open! Or she could help me; I simply don't know. I need information."

"You'll have it." Off the screen, out of sight, he was calling up the proper longfiles and coding them for transmission. "I'm sending you everything I have; it's a lot to wade through, I know, but I don't want to try to antic.i.p.ate what will or won't be useful. As for my reference notes . . . do you want to hear them?"

"Please."

"The child comes from the Inst.i.tute for the Acceleration of Human Psychic Evolution, one of the most prestigious and certainly the most powerful of the Genetic Centers. All double-talk aside, it owns her. Founded by fanatic scientists in 10,027, based upon the a.s.sumption that telepathic fluency would be the next natural step in human evolution. Their goal was-and still is-a combination of psychic and genetic science, intended to isolate the codes which make telepathy possible and introduce them into the race as a whole, while at the same time developing a training program that would enable people to get through the transition period with minimum trauma. This is their one and only goal, and all other concerns-including, I believe, loyalty to the state-are subordinate to it.

First Functional Telepath trained, 11,287; the t.i.tle implies conscious control over a broad range of psychic skills. There currently exist, in descending order of ability: Six Probes, twenty-three Functional Telepaths, and seventy Communicants. The rest are glorified psychics who have been trained to make some practical use of their ability, usually in response to one of the 'actives.' Nine thousand and twenty-seven of those."

"Only that many?"

"Apparently the Inst.i.tute will only certify someone as 'psychic' when he or she can respond to non-physical stimuli with one hundred percent reliability-not to mention accuracy. A tall order, I gather. Which is not to say that there aren't some hundred thousand hopefuls hovering about the Inst.i.tute's homeworld, hoping their talent will suddenly come into focus. Or something like that." He glanced at his notes. "Currently psychogenetics is focused on finding the so-called 'trigger sequences,' secondary genetic codes which cause the controlling sequences to become active."

"Anzha lyu," she prompted.

"Parents Azean-wait, you have all that, don't you?" She nodded. "Potential telepathy rated 9.99+-meaning they expect her to come into as much power as they imagine possible. She's halfway through basic training for an FT rating and hasn't got Probe potential, whatever that means. At her present level, Director li Pazua informs me, she's more effective than all but three others. Trained by a man I sent to Braxi, by the way, so there's no hope of help from that end. Records on her training aren't available to 'outsiders.' Li Pazua sent me a standard psychefile; edited, I'm sure. Of note are an obsessive hatred of all things Braxin and potential zeymophobia. And of course, the period of hysterical blindness "Ended not thirty days ago. How is that possible?"

"I quote: 'Psychosomatic sensory distortion among telepaths may be seen as a symptom of deep psychological disturbance, but should not be equated with actual sensory disability. A telepath is quite capable of experiencing the world through the senses of his/her tutors, and in fact often does so.' Li Pazua's cover letter," he explained. "It goes on to explain why the situation existed, in what ways they fought to correct it, and why her sudden unexplained recovery ought to be encouraged."

"I see."

"Useful?"

"Could be. Anything else?"

"On the girl? Just a warning. All telepaths are impressed with a Higher Purpose of some kind; in plain Azean, they're conditioned to serve the cause of psychogenetics in some way that takes advantage of their individual strengths and weaknesses."

"What's hers?"

"The Inst.i.tute doesn't reveal such things; it would undermine the confidentiality of their training, li Pazua claims. In the case of the man we sent to Braxi, they conditioned him to serve the Empire . . . but I'd be very surprised if they didn't throw in a command or two for their own benefit. Be careful, Torzha.

There are a lot of variables here."

"I see that."

"If she is tailing the Braxin . . . Hasha, I don't like it. Take the matter into your own hands, if you can."

She nodded. "I intend to."

"You've got a lot to think about, so I'll let you go. Call in regularly."

"I will." She always did.

It was time for some Braxin logic.

8.

Morning light played over the city of Kaleysh. In the streets children fought with mock adas and played rhythmic games with b.a.l.l.s and ropes, chanting rhymes which enumerated the most vulnerable parts of the body. Few adults walked abroad; there had been a Hyarke the night before and most had attended.

Now, worn out by the frenzy of witnessing such exertion, they lay abed in half- sleep, listening to their children chant the names of blood-spilling arteries in all the innocence of youth.

The Bloodletter himself was awake, moving with certain footing which belied the previous night's exertion. He had whispered a time and address to the young human girl and was going himself to that rendezvous. If the chants of the children awoke any memories of his own youth it was not evident on his face, which showed only a growing hostility and-perhaps-fear.

There was indeed a Braxin in the Circle. Laun Set knew it. The magnitude of the sacrilege was beyond expression; the need to act was irrepressible.

He pa.s.sed through the inn's common room with a gesture that drove back his would-be admirers and went to the room he had described to her. If others noted their meeting, it was of little concern to him. There were worse crimes on Dan than talking to human children-and one of them had been committed.

She saw his face when he entered and reached out tendrils of thought to read his surface emotions. In their preparations of the night before they had mind- shared; now it was easy for her to read him.

"You didn't really believe me," she said. "But now you do."

The rage which had been fermenting inside him boiled to the surface. "No Bloodletter would have denied the Sharing- no matter who or what partic.i.p.ated!" He remembered with pain the ravaged Circle, torn where the alien had walked through it, pouring precious life through its gaping wound. "No Bloodletter would have left--no one could have-"

His voice broke and he stopped. There was no way to express what was inside him, and he could only hope that she could read it directly. "No Bloodletter could have walked through a living Circle," he whispered.

"The mind of the Braxin," she said softly, "adapts easily to bloodshed. But it can't comprehend an active spiritual reality. He lives among your people. He kills them. But he doesn't understand them."

Laun Set looked at her, his face set in hatred. "He's going to die."

"That's what I intend."

"We're behind you. I didn't talk to the others. I couldn't. But I don't have to.

Kyar-" he used the Darian word for huntress in the place of her hated Azean name "-they knew, as I knew, what had been done. They won't question you."

She smiled. "More than I could have hoped for."

His tone was one of anguish. "How could he even pretend to be one of us and not know?" He shut his eyes tightly against the memory. "Kyar, if you could truly understand what happened. ..."

"I know. I saw, through your eyes. Through the eyes of all of you." She touched him gently, let him feel the sincerity through the contact. "I will avenge you. I promise."

He forced himself to relax and looked about the small room. After a moment he found the new-made ada, gleaming still with the oils of its creation, leaning upright against the doorframe. Stiffly he walked over to it, laying his own aside and hefting its lesser weight. "Dir Salau was willing to make this for you."

"Given your recommendation. He said to tell you that the proportions were unusual but correct."

He looked at her, then again at the weapon. "A bit long for your height, but he probably meant that to give you more reach. Yes, it's good." He stroked the shaft with pleasure; for the first time in a day and a night he smiled. "Pride in workmans.h.i.+p exceeds the bounds of racial hostility, I gather. This is excellently crafted."

She walked over to where he stood and touched a finger to the glistening metal.

"So I can keep my promise to you," she said quietly. "And to the Bloodletters."

Little killer, he thought. I do not envy your prey. "When can we begin?"

She looked up at him. "Now?"

He handed her the weapon.

9.

It bothered Varik, that scene with the girl.

If his culture didn't condemn any psychic curiosity, he might have realized that what disturbed him was not what had actually happened, but rather an inner reaction to the telepathic probing he had undergone while watching the ritual.