The Morcai Battalion: Invictus Part 18

Why? she wondered. Did he think she might become afraid of him, if she saw him like this? Odd, but then, his mind worked differently from hers. It would never matter how he looked. He was Dtimun.

One of her hands slid over his shoulder and encountered the wide band of fur that she had first felt at their bonding, lying against his spine. It seemed to run from the base of his neck and down, probably to the sacrum, perhaps lower. This was one of the differences he was reluctant to share with her, a feline characteristic that, like the brutal mating ritual, shamed the Cehn-Tahr. She was sad that he was so reluctant to tell her. Surely he knew that it would make no difference to her feelings. Or did he know? For a few seconds, she toyed with the idea of waking him and telling him that she knew the truth. But that was unwise. Their relations.h.i.+p was fragile at the moment and it was not the time for confrontations.

She withdrew her hand from his spine. Smiling, she buried her fingers in his mane and slid her face under his chin. Feeling safe, and warm, and secure as his arms closed around her obliviously, she went right back to sleep.

Dtimun felt an unusual sensation. He opened his eyes and started when he saw Madeline. Disobediently she had turned into his arms. She was pressed close against him, her hands tangled in his mane, her face in his throat. She was sleeping.

The fire-haired physician of their early days on the Morcai together would never have curled against him like this, or been in any way submissive to him. But the child had changed her. She was another person now; just as strong, just as stubborn, but not the same.

He felt her soft breath on his throat. She slept as if nothing could harm her, as if she felt safe so close to him. A wave of tenderness washed over him. She depended on him, not as her commander, but as her mate. She looked to him for comfort, for security. It made him feel odd. He couldn't remember such a feeling in his life before Madeline, certainly not with the Dacerian woman with whom he had been infatuated so long ago.

He should turn her back around, in case she woke. But the delight of her position was too seductive. He would surely wake before she did, before she saw him and turned away from him, ran from him, as humans had before when they saw his true appearance. He did not want to frighten her, especially now.

But the temptation to hold her this way was too great. He gave in to it. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

Dtimun and Madeline took a shuttle from Benaski Port to Dacerius. When they landed at the s.p.a.ceport, another shuttle took them down to the planet's surface. Sfilla had taken alternate transportation, by routes she refused to disclose, presumably to connect with her network of spies. But before she left, she and Madeline had shared a brief talk and Sfilla had taught her another useful mind trick, to keep Dtimun from knowing that she had seen his true face.

Madeline, who had rarely set foot on the desert planet, was fascinated by the colorful and noisy atmosphere. Nomads in sweeping robes wandered the narrow streets between flat adobe buildings, with a constant chatter. A boy pa.s.sed by them, carrying a large wooden tray atop his head which held loaves of risen bread. Madeline stared after him, curious.

"There is a public oven in the village," Dtimun explained with a smile. "Each family sends its bread to be baked there."

"How do they know which is which?" she asked.

"By a mark that is unique to each family."

"Oh." Her attention was drawn to a Dacerian standing by the gate, holding a huge silvery Yomuth by its reins. The animal resembled vids of extinct hamsters from Earth, except that it was the size of an elephant. Madeline had ridden one once. They were surprisingly fast, and very affectionate to their owners.

"He's beautiful," she told Dtimun.

"He is the pride of Hazheen Kamon's stable," he said surprisingly, and with a flash of green eyes. "It is a mark of honor that he sent it to fetch us."

He spoke to the handler, who grinned and handed him the reins.

Madeline was faintly apprehensive.

" Comcaashe," Dtimun said softly. He coaxed the animal to its knees, lifted her into the padded saddle and leaped up behind her. "We are in your debt," he told the handler, who grinned and saluted him.

And they were off. Madeline felt Dtimun's body, solid and warm at her back, as the animal galloped down the long dusty road.

"You have a question," he remarked.

She laughed. "Well, yes. It's that term, comcaashe. You use camaashe, as a rule..."

" Comcaashe is the familiar tense," he said at her ear. "It is used only among those for whom we have affection."

She felt the distinction with pleasure. "What does it mean?"

"Difficult to translate. Our language has layers of meaning. However, the closest approximation is 'be still, you are safe.'"

She smiled. "I like it."

He chuckled.

It was difficult to talk with yellow dust flying up from the animal's huge pads, so she leaned forward and closed her eyes, enjoying the rush of wind and the speed. In no time, it seemed, they were at the Dacerian village of which Hazheen Kamon was head man.

Hazheen greeted them with affection. He shook his head when he saw Madeline's distended abdomen.

"I would never have believed that was possible," he told her.

She laughed. "Neither would I, and I'm a doctor."

"Have you had word from Sfilla?" he asked the desert chieftain in a low tone.

Hazheen sobered. "Yes. She and her operatives are in the mountains as we speak. She had intel about the location of a small Rojok base." He shook his head with a heavy sigh. "It is not a thing of which I am proud, that some of my people deal in such kidnappings. Chacon has been a friend to us for many years. I would not want to be responsible for his death."

"Nor would I," Dtimun agreed.

Hazheen looked at Madeline worriedly. "It is dangerous for you to be here, in such a condition," he began.

"A point which I made repeatedly before we left Benaski Port," Dtimun replied tersely. "It was not possible to deter her without a length of rope and a secure room."

Madeline grinned.

Hazheen laughed. "A woman of spirit. It would take such a woman to tolerate your mate," he a.s.sured her.

"He is used to command."

"I do obey him from time to time," she said, defensively.

"When it suits you," her mate commented.

"Now, now, sir, life would be boring if I obeyed every order you gave me. Tedious, even. And I always obey the really important orders," she added cheekily. She grinned.

"The child is a great danger for both of you," the chieftain said gently. "If his existence were known..."

"It will not be," Dtimun interrupted. "I must speak with your tracker."

"At once," Hazheen agreed. "Come. My amenities are few, but you are most welcome to share what we have."

Madeline was touched. "Thank you."

He smiled at her. "Dtimun has been like a second son to me," he told her gently, and he smiled. "I am delighted that you have bonded with him."

"It's not permanent, sir," she began.

He pursed his lips and asked,. "Is it not?" He led the way into his tent.

The tracker was taciturn and helpful. Yes, he knew where the Rojok camp was located. And yes, there was a high level prisoner there. He had been betrayed by one of his own men, who had a Dacerian paramour in another camp.

"We need a battle plan," Madeline remarked.

Dtimun smiled at her. "And I have one. But first we must wait to hear from Sfilla."

"A formidable a.s.sa.s.sin," Hazheen said soberly. "She is well-known in the three galaxies for her efficiency."

"She has saved my life more than once," Dtimun agreed.

They waited until nightfall. There was no word from Sfilla. Dtimun paced the small tent he and Madeline had been given.

She studied him quietly from a p.r.o.ne position. The child's growth spurts were coming closer together.

She had real fears about going into premature labor, despite the drugs Caneese and Hahnson had provided. She tried to keep that knowledge from Dtimun. He had enough on his mind already.

She started to speak when there was a soft chime from his communicator ring. He activated it, and Sfilla appeared, full sized, in the tent.

"I have found him," she announced. "We are in the process of liberating him."

"Admirable speed," he commented. "Hazheen's tracker will lead us to you."

"Take care, there may be small pockets of Rojoks which we have not found," she cautioned, and her image vanished.

Dtimun turned to Madeline. "You should remain here."

She got to her feet and stared at him stubbornly.

He shook his head. "Very well. But this is not my wish."

She smiled and moved closer. "I would not be interesting if I were complacent."

He laughed and impulsively hugged her close. "I must agree."

His easy affection made her feel warm inside. She didn't dare think ahead, to a time when she'd never see him, or even remember these precious few weeks they'd had together.

"Do we walk or ride?" she asked.

"Walk. A Yomuth would be far too noisy, especially at night, when sound magnifies. In case there are Rojok patrols, we must use caution." He paused at the door of the tent, went back inside and returned with two novapens. He handed one to her.

She was surprised. "You're arming me?" she asked, stunned. "After all those threats you made?"

"You are not on active duty at the moment and your life might depend on having a weapon," he returned.

He glared at her. "This is not, however, an avowal of your own position on medics being armed in the field."

She saluted him.

He shook his head and went out the door.

The tracker led them through the starry darkness up old desert trails, down th.o.r.n.y paths, on a journey that seemed to take forever.

"It is only just ahead," he whispered finally, and moved into a clearing.

He dropped like a rock. Five Rojok soldiers appeared out of seemingly thin air, surrounding Madeline and Dtimun. One of them had a tiny pulse-syringe which he jabbed against Dtimun's neck. The effect was instant. Madeline watched with horror as her commanding officer became first dazed and then docile.

"And now," the Rojok squad leader said with a cold smile, "you are our prisoners. In one coup, we have captured two of the Tri-Galaxy Fleet's finest officers. And in less than two hours, you will both be dead."

CHAPTER TEN.

Madeline felt the bonds tighten every time she tried to free her hands. It was no use. She rebelled at the thought that she would die with her child still breathing in her belly, that Dtimun would die with her. This was not how she had envisioned her death. She only wanted a weapon. d.a.m.n the Rojoks!

She looked beside her at Dtimun and grimaced. He was drugged. He could have freed them with a thought if he hadn't been. Which led her to worry about who had known of his mental abilities and told these a.s.sa.s.sins to drug him. Chacon obviously did not know that Dtimun was a telepath, but there had been a woman in the village who had been quite curious about the Cehn-Tahr male in her camp. There were Dacerian telepaths. Perhaps that woman had been one.

But her suspicions wouldn't matter anymore, not if they died here. She thought of the child she would never see, of a future she had hoped so hungrily for, even when she knew it would be denied. Her green eyes swept lovingly over her mate, her commander, her friend. She had sacrificed so much to keep him alive. It wasn't fair that it should end like this!

"Sir," she whispered. "Sir!"

He opened his eyes and blinked. He stared at her, his sluggish mind trying to wrap itself around the grim reality of their situation. It hit him immediately. The Rojoks were going to kill them. He could hear them discussing it nearby. He could not manage enough psychic ability to overcome them, in this condition.

Madeline would die, along with the child in her womb. The sickness he felt in his very soul was so shocking that his face paled. The thought of losing her now was unbearable.

"Sir, you can escape," Madeline told him urgently in the few seconds they were left alone while the Rojoks debated the best means of dealing with their bodies following the executions.

He glared down at her. "No."

"Listen to me," she said, almost in anguish, "you're one of the finest strategists we have. I'm just a grunt, a common soldier, easily replaced, but you have the experience and the means to help end the war, defeat the Rojok alliance. I know you can get out of here. Even drugged, you're strong enough to break those bonds. Not one of the Rojoks could outrun you!"

He didn't speak.

"It would free you, of the bonding ties," she continued feverishly. "Afterward, you can bond with a Cehn-Tahr woman, an aristocrat, and have children to inherit your lands and t.i.tles...!"

"I will not leave you."