Chapter Twelve
MID SYSTEM, BD+56 2966
“They have destroyed a whole town of the Hkh’Rkh, from the sound of it,” Brenlor announced as Nezdeh entered the bridge of Red Lurker. “My father’s legacy is bearing the fruit we hoped.”
Nezdeh peripherally watched the current pilot, the Arbitrage’s former XO Ayana Tagawa as Brenlor spoke. She had not reacted to the Srin’s oblique but injudicious explication of how the groundwork for the current unrest on Turkh’saar had been laid long ago, and by whom, but that meant little. The small Japanese woman was not only far more clever than most of the other Aboriginals; she was far more composed. Had she heard and understood the significance of Brenlor’s exclamation, it is unlikely she would have shown it.
Nezdeh focused her attention on Brenlor, “This is excellent news, my cousin. And it means we must now determine our next steps.” She turned to Ayana. “You are dismissed, Tagawa. Send the second pilot forward, but instruct him to wait in the crew lounge. We require privacy until we are ready for him to assume his station.”
Ayana stood smoothly in the microgee imparted by their slow rotational rate. She made the slightest perceptible—and permissible—bow. “Yes, Nezdeh.” She kept her eyes down—but still, not quite submissive—as she exited Red Lurker’s bridge.
Brenlor glanced after her, then at Nezdeh. “What concerns you?”
“Tagawa is too clever, infers too much from our speech. It is best not to make any comments regarding our strategies or our origins in her presence.”
Brenlor crossed his arms, tried to act dismissive but was not up to the task of ignoring Nezdeh’s steady, assessing stare. “And who would she tell?”
“At this time, no one. But fate is a fickle mistress and we cannot be sure what strange chains of events might take Ayana from our control and put her into the hands of rival Houses. Or back into the arms of the Aboriginals.”
Brenlor Srin Perekmeres frowned. “Even if that were true, so casual and cryptic a reference to ‘my father’s legacy’ provides her with no useful intelligence to share.”
“Not on its own, no. But she is no fool. She knows that the human radio transmissions we have been monitoring from Turkh’saar originate from older Terran technology, more than a century in her homeworld’s past.”
“And how could she discern that?”
“She has shown great interest in the callsigns and slang used by the forces your father planted on Turkh’saar as a dormant false flag option. She has noticed certain physical peculiarities in the transmissions themselves. I suspect she knows they are characteristic of radio technologies particular to what they label their twentieth century. With the added context furnished by your comment, she is certainly capable of deducing the truth: that House Perekmeres seeded these humans on Turkh’saar, thereby violating the oath and duties Ktor had accepted in becoming assistants to the Custodians. And once Tagawa arrives at that conclusion, it is simplicity itself for her to conjecture why it was done: to sow discord and confusion between species whose eventual invitation to membership in the Accord was undesirable.”
Brenlor’s frown deepened before he blanked his face of any expression—but not before Nezdeh had seen each one of her deductive arrows find its mark. “There is some merit to your caution regarding Tagawa, but even she cannot discern our actual purpose in having activated this sleeper cell now.”
“Probably not,” Nezdeh allowed, “but if her knowledge is combined with that of other Aboriginals—for instance, those who know of our failed attempt to eliminate the envoy to the Slaasriithi homeworld—then together they may be able to reason it out: that these acts have actually been attempts to undermine Shethkador and the Autarchs, to illustrate how ineffectual their passive stratagems have been. They might then correctly conjecture that our intent on Turkh’saar is to place the Hkh’Rkh in a position where they will solicit our help and alliance against ‘further invasion’ by the so-called ‘Terrans.’”
“These would all be significant concerns,” Brenlor agreed, “if it were not for one small, contrary fact.”
“And what is that?”
“That we will kill Ayana Tagawa before we would allow her to pass from our dominion.”
It was a hollow boast concealed as a self-assured statement, and Nezdeh was fairly certain that Brenlor was aware of that. But he was unwilling to admit to the inadvisability of his first, unguarded words, even to his near-peer Nezdeh. Who simply replied, “We should summon Idrem.”
Brenlor nodded sharply. “Agreed. His counsel is wanted at this stage.”
Taking her cousin’s cue, Nezdeh touched one of the top studs on her beltcom. After a moment, it vibrated beneath her finger. Idrem had received her summons and was on the way. “What is the Slaasriithi’s status?”
Brenlor waved the holoplot into existence. “Four small craft have commenced a high speed transit to Turkh’saar.” He smiled humorlessly. “One of them is an Aboriginal Wolfe-class corvette.”
Could it be true? “So not only is this the same Slaasriithi ship, it is still carrying the same defense craft that the human envoy to Beta Aquilae was using?”
“At this distance, we are unable to delineate its thrust signature in sufficient detail to establish a match. Besides, from what you reported, the human craft that disrupted our operations on Disparity—”
—“Disrupted?” Ruined, rather—
“—would likely have needed extensive repairs to its engines. That could change its thrust profile.”
Nezdeh stared at the four green motes that had emerged from the clutter of the asteroid belt. They were angling in toward the sixth orbit to rendezvous with the blue, brown, and white sphere that represented Turkh’saar. “There are other ways we might identify it, later.” She nodded at the tactical plot. “No sign of the Slaasriithi shift-carrier itself, though.”
“No, and that is a concern. It could have paused behind any of several larger asteroids that it passed on its way into the belt. It might have cut loose these craft on a parallel course either before or after its final disappearance from our scans, could have shielded them in its sensor shadow as long as they continued together without expending thrust.”
“But the shift-carrier’s last known position should give us an idea of its general location.”
“Possibly. But the Slaasriithi were sly. When they went into the sensor shadow of the last asteroid they used to conceal themselves, there were several other large objects in that vicinity. It is quite possible that they could have repositioned themselves behind any of those others by engaging a short, maximum burn while they were still hidden, and then simply coasting along that trajectory until they drifted into the shadow of one of the other rocks.”
Idrem’s voice came through the hatch. “And if they apply a similar tactic sequentially, they could significantly alter their position before we see them again.”
Nezdeh turned toward Idrem and reminded herself, I must not let my emotions show on my face. But that seemed to make the swelling knot behind her sternum grow larger and tighter, as it if was trying to rise out of her to get to Idrem.
Brenlor was nodding at Idrem’s summary. “You said, ‘before we see them again.’ How can you be sure that we will? The Slaasriithi ship might simply have deposited a team to deal with the ‘human invaders’ on Turkh’saar, and await their return in the belt.”
“They might, but I doubt it.” He moved past Nezdeh without a glance, but she detected a slight softening of his expression in the instant that he was abreast of her. Idrem pointed into the tacplot. “If the Slaasriithi wait for these four small craft to return to the belt on their own power, they incur needless risks and delays. Firstly, if enemy has presumed that hostile craft could be in the system—and they are too competent not to—the mission detachment will be at its most vulnerable when making their return. They will not have the high velocity that they begin with now. Rather, they will have to boost up from the bottom of a gravity well and beyond orbit, meaning they will be exposed much longer than on their way in. Consequently, the Slaasriithi would be fools not to advance to provide cover and effect the earliest possible rendezvous.”
Brenlor nodded. “Yes. But if they are so concerned with concealment, why would they be willing to forego it at that juncture?”
Idrem stuck his index finger into the holoplot approximately midway between Turkh’saar and the last indicated position of the Slaasriithi shift-carrier. From there, he drew his finger slowly toward the edge of the holoplot, which expanded in an attempt to keep up with the trajectory he was tracing. “This is their logical path once they decide to preaccelerate for out-shift. They will want to commence that thrust as soon as they receive word that the mission is complete. However, once their mission craft departs Turkh’saar, any observer would rightly suspect that their return vector points to their ultimate point of rendezvous with the shift-carrier. So that is the effective end of the Slaasriithi’s concealment.” He stepped back; the line denoting the preacceleration trajectory glimmered once and faded out. “From that point onward, speed is their only ally.”
Brenlor nodded, and Nezdeh felt a sense of growing well being. Originally hesitant to take Idrem’s counsel, the Srin had come to regard him as a trusted counselor. And since Idrem was not of the prime progenitorial geneline, he was not a potential political rival like Nezdeh.
Idrem had, for his part, adapted smoothly to his role, showing a marked facility for suppressing the head-butting dominance challenges that would have elicited a similar, competitive response from Brenlor. Not all Ktoran males were capable of that measure of self-control, but Idrem was truly Elevated in that he did not require nor seek the opinion of others as a means of informing his opinion of himself. Many of the other males did not understand this, but they understood his expertise, his intelligence, and cold-eyed readiness to respond to the faintest of their challenges. What he might lack in charisma, he accrued in respect and regard, and that made him doubly valuable to Nezdeh as a potential lifemate.
She forced herself away from that thought and the daydreams of pleasure and joint dominion that inevitably followed, nodded at the plot instead. “It seems that we shall need to employ our contingency plan, given the enemy movement.”
Brenlor’s voice was a loud grumble of unwilling consent. “I suppose we must. I do not like separating into two forces.”
“Nor do I, but our whole body may not advance without revealing our presence. The Arbitrage’s sensor profile is enormous, and our shift-tug’s antimatter drive will show up on their instruments like a signal flare on a moonless night. But if we wait to move until the mission craft has landed on Turkh’saar, they may be able to conclude their operations before we can arrive. We must be there at the crucial moment, to rescue the Hkh’Rkh from potential enemy devastation, thereby placing the Old Families directly in debt to our House.”
Brenlor nodded. “Agreed. If we do not achieve that, our ploy here will have failed. Only the unwavering support of the Hkh’Rkh will protect us against our own Autarchs, compel them to reaccept us as the price of securing a firm alliance with the Patrijuridicate.” He leaned back. “I am decided. Red Lurker is the only craft with both sufficient stealth and combat capabilities to approach Turkh’saar and remain undetected until we may intervene.” He gestured at the plot. “It is also the only hull which may hope to engage and defeat all these small craft. Our other ships would be more of a hindrance than a help.”
Nezdeh nodded. “I concur. Before you and Idrem depart, I recommend—”
Brenlor straightened slightly. “Idrem is not coming on this mission. I shall take Tegrese Hreteyarkus as my executive officer. Ayana Tagawa will be the pilot. The rest of the crew will be drawn from the Arbitrage’s complement.”
Nezdeh and Idrem exchanged glances, and from the look in his eye, she could tell that this, a policy matter rather than a tactical decision, could not be his fight. A challenge to Brenlor’s prerogative as Srin, as House leader, had to come from his peer: the House’s only surviving Srina. She stepped forward. “This is not as we decided, Brenlor.”
“It is not as we discussed, Nezdeh. I made no final decision when we considered the many possible scenarios months ago. I have given much thought to this matter since then, more often since we detected the in-shift of the Slaasriithi a week ago.” He put his head back slightly. “It is imperative that I lead the mission, that the Hkh’Rkh know that they are indebted to me, personally, as the head of the resurgent House Perekmeres.”
“None have debated that,” Nezdeh conceded. Although I would have, had it been possible.
“Similarly,” Brenlor continued, “Tegrese’s geneline, that of the vassal-House Hreteyarkus, must also be amplified by deeds, which indebts the Hkh’Rkh to more of our genelines. We know that, like us, they think in terms of family and inherited obligations. So it is necessary that we spread the recognition of their indebtedness to include our other, subsidiary Houses.”
“With respect, Brenlor, there is an even greater necessity.”
“And what is that?”
“The success of the mission.” She hated what she was about to say, wanted to send Brenlor off with Tegrese of House Hreteyarkus and keep Idrem uninvolved with this unpredictable mission, but Idrem himself had pointed out why he had to be the executive officer. And against the surging of the knot in her chest then, as now, she could not find a flaw in his logic. “Tegrese’s skill set is focused on combat, as is yours. However, your executive officer must compliment, not duplicate your abilities, must have expertise in sensors, engineering, communications, astrogation.” To say nothing of subtler tactics and cool, level-headed judgment. “And as we discussed, an Intendant cannot be your executive officer, cannot simply replace Tegrese in your crew equations. You cannot risk being the only Evolved on that ship. In the event that you should be incapacitated, you must not be the only person capable of exerting dominion and speaking for our House. And other than myself, Idrem is the only one of the remaining seven of us who possesses all these traits, and has proven himself in combat multiple times, besides.”
Brenlor’s face had darkened, despite his obvious attempts at controlling his flush response. His autonomous physiological control disciplines had never been very good, for much the same reason that he had been an indifferent student, particularly when it came to more complicated subjects. Patience and equanimity were not his fortes. “Tagawa is broadly capable, as well.” His voice was more than a mutter, but barely so.
Nezdeh was careful to keep her tone respectful as she checkmated Brenlor. “Yes, but she is an Aboriginal. Surely you can’t mean that you would abase yourself by soliciting her counsel?”
And so Brenlor was trapped; he had indirectly conceded that broad technical competencies were required on the mission, but could hardly propose resorting to an Aboriginal for command-grade advice. Nezdeh would have found it both gratifying and relaxing to breathe a sigh of relief, but she dared not even exhale, yet.
Brenlor glowered at her, then nodded. “I had considered sacrificing my pride for the good of the mission, but you are right; as the Progenitors’ axiom has it, ‘dominion cannot abide compromise.’” He straightened. “Idrem is with me, then. And the balance of the crew shall be from the Arbitrage.”
Nezdeh slowly released her breath, did not glance at Idrem, tried hard not to mentally replay the conversation they had had almost a month ago in anticipation of this very moment. The conversation in which Idrem had taken her face in his hands—gently, surprisingly gently—and explained, “There must be a person on the bridge of Red Lurker who can challenge Brenlor’s decisions effectively, to whom he is likely to listen. And he listens to me now.” Then seeing the look on Nezdeh’s face, Idrem had smiled, one of the few times she had ever seen him do so, and amended, “Well, most of the time.”
In the present moment, Idrem was nodding. “Very well. I shall ready my gear and alert Kozakowski that we shall want the first crew assigned to Red Lurker for the mission.” He glanced at the holoplot again. “I presume you will want to boost hard so long as we are still within the belt ourselves, and then coast under thermionic-assisted stealth as far in as we may.”
“Correct,” Brenlor agreed with a nod. “We have no reason to get too close to the enemy.” He stared hard at the four green chevrons in the holoplot. “Yet.”
* * *
Nezdeh stared at her empty, still-unmade bunk aboard the Arbitrage. The bunk from which she had risen when Brenlor had called from the bridge. From which Idrem had risen when she summoned him. And to which he would not return until Red Lurker had completed its mission.
The oddly musical door chime interrupted her reverie; the Breedmothers and Progenitors would have approved, no doubt. Reflection was only useful in considering new ways in which one might improve one’s dominion. When focused on emotions, it could only be deleterious, a weakening of the absolute will to power and to self. “Enter,” she ordered.
The crude Aboriginal hatch swung inward. Tegrese Hreteyarkus stalked into the room, stopped in front of the desk at which Nezdeh was working. “Nezdeh Srina Perekmeres, I come to speak to you frankly.”
Nezdeh leaned back, considered Tegrese’s tone and posture. Like Brenlor, she tended toward impulse rather than analysis, and was too rash to ever become politic. Nezdeh had wondered if she and Brenlor might become mates at some point, and it seemed that Brenlor had diffidently wondered the same thing for a while. But over the passing months Tegrese had shown no interest in such a union and Brenlor’s disappointment had been as tepid as his interest. Perhaps he had possessed enough wisdom to realize that they were both too rash and willful to ever become a stable pairing.
Standing before Nezdeh’s desk now, and chafing at the implicit subordinacy it underscored, Tegrese radiated a temper that was different from her typical fiery variety. She was cold and focused and prepared—but for what? “Be seated, Tegrese. And unless you have come to challenge me, you may dispense with formal titles and family names.”
Tegrese’s eyes wavered; she clearly had not expected so reasonable a response. Which led Nezdeh to wonder: then what did she expect? And why?
Tegrese sat, remained rigid, stared. “What do you have against me, Nezdeh?”
“Whatever prejudice you believe you have deduced, Tegrese, you are mistaken. What I hold against you this moment, though, is your apparent willingness to leap to unwarranted and insulting conclusions.” She lowered her tone, made it less aggressive in order to temper the words she was about to speak. “You should have care both for your professional reputation and the limits of my patience, Tegrese Hreteyarkus.”
“Then tell me why I am being excluded from the mission to Turkh’saar, Nezdeh.”
Ah, now it was clear. And it was also clear that Brenlor had either spoken to her earlier about his intention to include her on the mission, or just before he and Idrem had departed in Red Lurker. Which was exactly why Brenlor remained a problematic leader: he acted without due consideration of how those actions would impact others in his command. “The decision was taken collectively,” Nezdeh answered.
Neither Tegrese’s rigidity nor stare altered. “Brenlor intended to make me his executive officer on this mission. But then he met with you and Idrem and now I am forced to remain here, nurse-maiding huscarles on the Uzhmarek and disciplining Aboriginal dolts.” She leaned forward, her eyes brightening, her tone low and tense. “I did not join this desperate gamble to restore House Perekmeres only to be sequestered, safe in the rear, as a reserve womb. And I never thought I would have to explain that to a woman, certainly not a Srina renowned for her own boldness.”
Nezdeh frowned as she spent a moment inspecting Tegrese’s smooth oval face, a shape which was reprised by her eyes and her lips. Prior to the Extirpation of House Perekmeres, Nezdeh had always been careful before approving women for wet-work, or any field missions whatsoever. Frankly, the Breedmothers’ galling axiom was usually true: greater power was to be cultivated—and wielded—from their positions of power within the walled precincts of the Hegemonies. While men went out and expended themselves in the perpetually internecine, and often pointless, strife between the many Houses of the Ktoran Sphere, and their fortunes rose and fell correspondingly, the power contests within their citadels invariably rewarded women’s superior calculation and patience. In the field, men might give a few more orders than the women, but women ultimately held more strategic trump cards than men.
But Tegrese eschewed the wisdom of the Breedmothers since her youngest years, and had risen to the call when she heard of Brenlor’s quest to restore House Perekmeres and destroy House Shethkador in so doing. Nezdeh remembered her wide-eyed, impassioned rationale for inclusion in their piratical band. “If we do not succeed, our genelines are lost anyhow. If we triumph, we liberate all those of House Perekmeres who still remain. Desperate times call for desperate measures. What does my sex matter?” And who could disagree with the simple logic of that?
But Nezdeh could not share the actual reason that Tegrese was not shipping out on Red Lurker: she and Brenlor together were too rash to be trusted with such a delicate mission. Saying so would undermine Brenlor’s authority, and Tegrese would no doubt report the implicit insult to him. “Brenlor’s leadership must be bold, direct, aggressive,” Nezdeh said crisply. “Consequently, we required an executive officer who is willing, even temperamentally disposed, to advise restraint, patience, and assessment. This mixture of personalities makes for the best combined leadership. Effective command is a balance of the traits of aggression and caution. You and Brenlor both excel at aggression—but then who was to provide the caution on this extremely sensitive mission?”
Nezdeh had meant Tegrese to hear the question rhetorically, but she didn’t. “Ayana Tagawa is—”
“—Is an Aboriginal. She must remain in abject servitude. She cannot advise, nor exhort actions, from such a position. Besides, although she has both the skills and the caution that would make her suitable for the role you suggest, she is the Aboriginal whose loyalty I trust the least. So she is the one I am least willing to send on a mission that involves her own, under-evolved kind.”
Tegrese folded her arms, sounded sullen. “If you feel she is such a risk, then why do you not rid yourself of her?”
Nezdeh raised her chin. “If I could, I would. But we cannot afford to lose her skills. Not at this point.”
Tegrese displayed the other trait she had in common with Brenlor: stubbornness. Rather than admit that her objections had been refuted, she slid sideways into a new complaint. “So this is how we are rejecting the caution and self-neutering evasiveness of the Autarchs—by adopting their methods, by refusing bold action in favor of subterfuge, by refusing the blood-drenched sword for the shadow-hidden dagger?”
Nezdeh rose, silent and aloof, looked down at Tegrese for what she hoped were the longest ten seconds of her subordinate’s life. Judging from the other woman’s sudden need to shift position in her chair, Nezdeh felt it might have been. “You have the right to question if you are the target of prejudice.” Even though you do not have the right to an answer. “But if you question the judgment and orders of your superiors again, you will be executed. According to the Precepts of the Progenitors. Do you understand?”
Tegrese nodded, looked away. “I apologize, Srina Perekmeres. I did not intend to question your judgment or orders. But I do not understand why we have adopted these indirect tactics. When I first learned of the quest to restore our House, and then heard Brenlor speak, I believed that not just our goals, but our means of achieving them, were to be an act of defiance against the Autarchs, not a continuation of their conceits.”
Rash woman. “Your thought is dangerously simplistic.” Nezdeh glanced at the holographic mission clock on her desk; Idrem had only been gone an hour now, but it felt longer. Much longer. “We defy the Autarchs selectively. The deeper objective of our mission is not to unseat, but to embarrass the Autarchs of those Houses that called most ardently for Perekmeres’ Extirpation. In so doing, we create an advantageous political climate for our old allies, that they might help us rise up once again.
“In contrast with your expectations, we pointedly do not want to irritate the Autarchs, or the Houses—yet. If we do, we will find ourselves on the brink of yet another internecine war, and if that occurs, we can be sure of their first action. They will decide that it is in their collective interest to exterminate us and so put aside those tensions along with our ashes.” She paused to give her concluding sentence more emphasis, more finality. “If we press too hard, Tegrese, we shall bring about our own destruction.” She turned her back on her subordinate, walked leisurely back to her seat, and began scanning through the reports she had been reviewing when the door chimed. “However, that is not the point of this conversation. You wished to know why you are not selected as the executive officer for the mission with Brenlor. Now you have your answer. Return to your duties.”
Tegrese exited without a word.
Nezdeh looked up, saw what she longed to see, and yet hated to see:
Idrem’s half of their unmade bunk—but empty.