Sequel to Twin Witness to Betrayal
By Katherine Padilla
On
the Earth base ship Sovereign of the
Stars, in a
luxurious stateroom on "A" Deck, Sanel King
and Internal Investigation agent Daniel Stewart gazed in satisfaction at a man
who had been physically altered to look exactly like agent Stewart, except that
his eyes were not brown, but blue.
King
hurriedly dismissed the Stewart-twin and telepathically commanded his Eslavu servant to pour him a glass of mineral water.
Stewart
received his own glass of mineral water, his satisfaction so extreme it was
almost regret. "I almost wish I were the one going to Novaun.
I want the pleasure of torturing that son of Abomination myself."
King
chuckled. "Your pleasure will be much greater if you live to see the
destruction of our young traitor and Novaun's
humiliation. Your twin goes to Novaun to die."
Stewart's
dark eyes searched King's face calculatingly. "And your
spy?"
King's
eyes shone with gloating ruthlessness. "My spy is in position and is
progressing as planned, possessing a mind of even greater potential than I had
anticipated. My plan is coming to fruition so easily I'm embarrassed for the
great Novaunian Fleet."
Stewart
laughed.
King
sighed in ecstasy. "My revenge will be glorious."
Ton Luciani had just completed a surgery with Dr. Lren Tervel and was on his way to
the shower when he received a telepathic summons from Dr. Morlel
Hovaus, his mentor. Since Ton was not scheduled for a
review, the summons worried him. Had he done something to provoke a reprimand?
Ton
quickly showered, changed, and hurried to Dr. Hovaus's
office at the clinic. He entered looking as dignified as he could. Ton was
relieved that a librarian wasn't present. At least this wasn't going to be an
official meeting.
Dr. Hovaus greeted Ton with fingertips touching and invited him
to sit down. I'll come straight to
the point, Ton. Since you've been here, you've been volunteering all of your
free time at the hospital, and it's starting to show. You're slow and rundown.
Ton
gazed at his mentor, perplexed. I do
what is required, then only what I wish to do. All of my reviews have shown
that my work is exceptional.
Your knowledge and
execution of technique is exceptional, yes, but you are slow, and you aren't
slow because you're being careful, which is what I expect from a new physician.
It's a hesitating, unsure kind of slowness that comes from a cloudy mind. We
need doctors who are dedicated, yes, but we don't want medical martyrs.
Ton
thought in exasperation that if Colonel Quautar would
let him have his coffee on the days he worked he would be as fast and as sure
of himself as any of the more experienced surgeons!
Hovaus leaned forward in his chair. I'm worried about you, Ton. You need something in your life other than
work. You will not only be happier, your work will become much more fulfilling
and effective. I don't want to throw your life into a complete state of shock,
but I do want you to relax a little. From today on, you will work only for me. I've already contacted the necessary hospital
staff members.
Ton
assimilated Dr. Hovaus's thoughts in a daze. What would
he do with all those extra hours a week? He would go insane with boredom.
Learning
of the death of Ausha's brother a week and a half
before had disheartened him enough. His fight with Miaundea
had shattered him, and finding the taffuao remains of
a woman spy in his room at the Doshyr estate had
completely terrified and unnerved him. This final blow of having his working
hours restricted devastated him. He scratched at his mustache, too perplexed to
reply.
Dr. Hovaus gazed at Ton in concern. I want you to relax, Ton. Not lie down and die. He squeezed Ton's arm. What is really bothering you?
Ton
shook his head quickly as if to communicate, "Nothing."
Hovaus withdrew his hand. You want to tell me that your personal concerns are none of my business.
Everything you do is my business if it in any way threatens the quality of your
work.
Ton
leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, covering his face with his
hands. Perhaps he couldn't tell Dr. Hovaus about his
fear of Sanel King and the woman spy he knew had been
in his room, but he could tell him something about the fight he had had with Miaundea. I had
a fight with a girl I like very much. She . . .
well . . . I was full of rage, and if she hadn't run away from
me I . . . I would have beaten her.
Ton
couldn't bring himself to communicate any more. He certainly couldn't reveal
the nature of the argument. He couldn't take the chance that Dr. Hovaus or anyone else would tell Colonel Quautar, thus endangering his privilege to live on Novaun. He had no doubt that leaving Novaun
at this point would mean instant death. He sat up and leaned back, feeling
exhausted.
You need to
communicate with Counselor Brunel.
Ton
stiffened. That is completely out of
the question.
Hovaus appeared puzzled. Counselor Brunel is perfectly qualified to help you deal with personal
problems as well as with the stresses that come with practicing medicine.
Receiving help from a psychologist isn't anything to be ashamed of. If a large
number of people didn't need emotional help at times, there wouldn't be
counselors available to give it.
Ton
felt a flicker of spiteful satisfaction. As much as they demanded perfection, Novaunians were as human as everyone else and just as
flawed. He shook his head. I'm not
ashamed. I just . . . can't.
I think I understand.
The young lady you have the problem with is the daughter of your sponsor,
Colonel Quautar, and you're afraid that anything you
communicate about her would somehow get back to him.
Ton
could not muster a reply.
Did it ever occur to
you that he may already know everything?
Ton
regarded Hovaus suspiciously.
She may have already
told him about your argument.
That is extremely
unlikely.
Hovaus pondered Ton's problem for nearly a minute. Finally he
communicated with a shake of his head, You have a problem, Ton, and you need to communicate with someone. You can't
change a lifetime of attitudes and inappropriate ways of dealing with
frustration with a simple snap of your fingers. I can promise you that
Counselor Brunel or any of the other Academy psychologists I can refer you to
for counseling will not betray your confidence to anyone, even Colonel Quautar.
Ton
shook his head again. I will not
discuss anything with a counselor!
Hovaus sighed. If you
won't communicate with a counselor, I feel I should make a couple of
suggestions. First, you need to learn to channel your anger. When you feel
you're losing control, leave the situation. Then take a walk, write in a
journal, scream into a pillow, participate in strenuous exercise, or whatever
you find works for you. My other suggestion is to confide in a friend, someone
you trust, someone who can help you understand and
express what angers and distresses you.
Ton
drummed his fingers on his thighs, feeling helpless. I've never had a friend like that.
Hovaus smiled perceptively. Since you will only be working for me, you'll have quite a bit more time
for confidences, and you do have at least one very good friend, the colonel's
daughter herself.
"No!
Absolutely not!"
Hovaus stood up. She
will communicate with you, I assure you. Hovaus stopped for a moment.
And whether you realize it or not,
you have good friends among your young colleagues.
Ton
thought immediately of Ausha, but he wasn't sure what
she would think of him now that his people had killed her brother. Do you think that when Ausha
gets back she'll blame me?
Do you blame yourself?
Yes and no. I could
never have ordered that invasion if I had been in a position to do so, but
still, they are my people, and I was part of Star Force for five years. They
trained me for combat and self-defense just as they did the rest of them. I
wore an immobilizer when I was sent into a battle zone to treat the wounded. My
ship might have been the one that attacked Jaunel's.
How am I supposed to feel?
I don't know. You're
in a unique and baffling position.
The most shameful
thing about it is that it didn't bother me so much at first. I knew that what
Earth had done was wrong, but still, it was just an intellectual game, a
political puzzle. But then Ausha's brother died, and
everything changed.
Dr. Hovaus put his arm around Ton's shoulders and squeezed
slightly. What you're feeling is the
pain of someone you care about, empathy. Just be honest with Ausha about the way you feel, and she won't blame you.
It still won't change
what happened. Ton
turned and walked out of the office.
Ton
left Dr. Hovaus, feeling depressed. His working
relationship with Ausha would take care of itself
when she returned from Dinevlea, but he didn't know
what to do about Miaundea. He had struggled over the
last week not to think about her, with no success. He hadn't realized how much
a part of his life she had become. He missed her teasing smile, the way her
eyes lit up as she analyzed a problem, the security of having her slide her
tiny hand under his elbow and pressing it affectionately against his arm.
She
had tried communicating with him several times over the past seven days, and he
had refused, repelled by the possibility that she would do as she usually did
whenever he did something to disturb her, treat him as if nothing had happened
and continue on in her little charade.
He wanted her to be his lover and companion,
and one way or another, he was going to force a
decision from her. She wanted to communicate with him? Fine.
She could do it on his terms. She could come to him at his apartment.
Ton
went to the clinic cafeteria and had a quick lunch with Danal,
then headed back to his office to study his new cases and complete some
reports. Normally he and Dr. Hovaus's other
apprentices didn't see patients on Sixth Day since they were usually in surgery
or performing an Awareness manipulation, so as far as he knew, he didn't have
any patients scheduled for that afternoon. He was surprised to find Ausha there, sitting in the glow of a magnified patient
Awareness image being generated by their telepathic transmission recorder,
systematically formulating various surgery strategies for one of their more
difficult new cases.
Ton
stopped in just inside the door. The change in Ausha
was astounding. She looked sickly, her skin ashen instead of its normal creamy
translucence. Her gaunt face, with its dark shadows of exhaustion, made her
exotic brown eyes seem larger than normal, which only emphasized their sorrow.
Gone was her cheerful exuberance and breathless, frenetic pace, replaced by
unhurried graveness. Even her plants drooped around her in desolation, proud Hokinnon most of all.
Ton
felt queasy. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to communicate?
It didn't seem right to act as if nothing had happened, and yet seeing her this way made him long to redirect her thoughts to
happier subjects and help her forget.
Sensing
Ton's presence by the door, Ausha lifted her head and
looked at him. The Awareness image disappeared. She smiled, just barely, in an
attempt to be cheerful. Hello, Ton.
I told you that one of these days I would surprise you and get here first.
Ton
walked cautiously to the middle of the office and the telepathic transmission
recorder. Hi, Ausha. He groped for something to communicate. When did you get back?
This
morning.
Andrel came in yesterday and asked about you.
Ausha grimaced. I
don't want to see him.
He seems very
concerned.
She
sighed. I know. She continued, somewhat vexed:
I also know just what he'll
communicate in his "concern." He lives completely in his idealistic
world of knowledge and principle, rights and wrongs. He can't begin to
understand real people and real pain. He'll try to comfort me, and instead he'll
moralize and tell me that Jaunel has made a natural
step in his progression, that he's at peace, and that there will come a time
when we'll all be together again.
Ausha stared into space, her expression wry. Well, I already know all of that, and it doesn't
change what I feel. It doesn't build a bridge over that awful chasm between
this world and the next. And it doesn't make me miss him any less.
Ausha's communication about death and "that awful chasm
between this world and the next" paralyzed Ton. He could think of nothing
at that moment but his treason, Sanel King, and the
female spy that had been in his room in Launarda.
Feeling
Ton's spasm of fear in their telepathic exchange, Ausha
looked up at him and frowned, her expression one of alarm and concern. She
stood up and pulled a chair over to the transmission recorder next to hers and
gently sat Ton down in it. She reseated herself and stroked his arm. What is it, Ton? What is it that terrifies you
so?
Ton
gazed at her, uncomprehending. How did she know? How could she possibly know?
Ausha almost smiled, communicating as if in answer to his
thoughts, I felt it.
Ton
felt like a fool. Of course she had felt it. The problem with telepathy was
that these Novaunians could read emotions too well,
particularly the more empathic ones like Ausha and
Dr. Hovaus. Virtually the only way to keep feelings
private was not to communicate at all. With Ausha,
though, that wasn't an option. Knowing how futile his effort would be, he had
never fought it with her, nor did he withdraw abruptly now, but her perception
made him uncomfortable all the same.
Ausha gazed at him solemnly, again feeling his emotions and
understanding their nature. We're
friends, Ton. You have no reason to be embarrassed or uneasy with me about
anything. I have no intention to ever judge you or moralize.
For
the moment, Ton's curiosity was stronger than his fear of King. Why not?
Because I hate it when
people do it to me, and it doesn't do one bit of good.
Maybe that's why I've always felt so at ease with you. You're opinionated,
maybe even more opinionated than I, but you never moralize.
I can't do anything to
offend you!
I don't think we would
work very well together if either one of us let ourselves get offended and
irritated by our personal differences and idiosyncrasies.
But I can't offend
anyone on this planet. Even the ones who get offended don't treat me
differently afterward. I don't understand it, and I don't like it.
Why do you wish you
could offend people?
So
that they'll despise me. It
makes it a whole lot easier to despise them. He continued weakly, It makes you a lot less vulnerable.
Ausha gazed at him compassionately. You've lost people close to you, haven't you?
She
was so sincere, and their communication had always been so natural and
comfortable. Ton couldn't not answer her. I have, but not to death. Sometimes I think death would be the easy way. At least the person who
dies generally doesn't have control. It can't be anything like the agony of one
day realizing that after years and years of fighting to gain someone's approval
and support that you're never going to get it, no matter what you do. Or losing an intimate friend because you remind him of someone who
hurt him.
Ton nodded. I really think death
would be the easy way.
At least I know Jaunel wouldn't have had it this way,
that he misses us as much as we miss him. Sometimes that makes me feel
better; sometimes it makes me feel worse. I can't bear the thought of him there
and all of us here, and how lonely he must feel. Ausha's lips trembled. He was so young, Ton, so
young, and he had his whole life ahead of him. All he ever wanted to do was
join the Fleet and rescue wounded soldiers, but there was no one there to
rescue him. He left a wife and a new little baby. It just doesn't seem fair,
you know?
Ton
nodded slowly, again gripped with fear. I know.
I guess that's what
scares me most about dying, that I'll miss my family too much and that I'll
leave something unfinished, like Jaunel did.
Ton
couldn't seem to restrain the outpouring of his own
worries and emotions. Sometimes I
think it would be easier to die, to just shut everything off, all the pain, all
the loneliness, all the fear. Then I get terrified that maybe our spirits do
continue to live after we die, that all of those feelings, those needs, and
those cravings just keep going on and on and on, forever and ever, nagging at
you constantly but never consuming you and putting you out of your misery. I
can't imagine a more exquisite torment.
Ausha replied only with feelings. He sensed that she had
internalized his fears and understood, and that in itself
made him feel a little less afraid, at least for the moment. Perhaps the most
unbelievable emotion he could feel in her was that she acknowledged his
unequivocal right to want to be happy and at peace in his life, that she
anguished with him at having never been able to find it, and that she wanted it
for him as sincerely as he wanted it for himself.
They
sat there still for many minutes, when suddenly Ton blurted in earnestness and
anxiety, I'm sorry about Jaunel, Ausha. I'm more sorry than you can know, but when I came in here a
little while ago and saw you looking so miserable, I didn't know what to
communicate. I didn't know what to do, and I still don't. The Senlana invasion never made me so
ashamed of my own people as that day a week and a half ago when Dr. Hovaus told you about Jaunel. It
doesn't surprise me that Earth invaded Senlana, but
that doesn't make it any less wrong. And no, it isn't fair.
For
not knowing what to communicate, you seem to be communicating all the right
things. She gazed
at him, still sad, but with that incredible concentration that had always so
impressed him. Why Ton? Why would
they have done it?
It
was a question she had longed to ask him since the moment she had learned of
the invasion. Ton was disturbed that she hadn't felt comfortable asking it
until now, but he was relieved that his race didn't matter to her, only his
personal feelings about the invasion, and that she had used the pronoun
"they" instead of "you."
It could have been for
a lot of different reasons. They're proud, they want arelada,
and they need a war. War is something they understand. It's holy to them. It's
their way of life, and unless you live among them, there's no way you can
really understand it.
Ton
opened his mind to her and let her see the attitudes of his Earthon
peers in Star Force, from the Prince
Jahnzel, to Latanza III, to the Sovereign of the Stars. He showed her the religious
services, their fencing tournaments, their rallies, their conversations, their
basic military training. He showed her Earth's culture in general, their
literature, their art, their knowledge and ambitions, their Zarrist
history, their allegiance to their Divine Emperor.
Ausha assimilated it all, fascinated and appalled. She and the
other student physicians had, at different times, asked Ton about his academic
and medical training on Earth and his experiences as a neurosurgeon in Star
Force, but they had never asked him about Earth's culture. She began to
understand why Earth would do something so brutal and
immoral as invade a tiny neighboring republic, that to many Earthons
the invasion hadn't been immoral at all. She began to understand, but that
understanding brought new concern about Earth as a significant threat to the
security of Novaun and the other planets in the
Union, especially those on the borders such as Dinevlea.
I always told you that
you're of a corrupt race, Ausha teased.
And being a traitor,
I'm the most corrupt of all.
How did you escape it,
Ton?
I don't know. I guess
it was the natural Awareness ability I had to see the Divine Emperor attempting
to take control of a cell in my brain on my Day of Awakening. I guess after
that my instinct just took over and I fought it with all my strength. But I
never escaped it. I was just never a part of it. I don't suppose anyone was
surprised when I sold out to an enemy agent.
A traitor at heart
long before you committed treason, hmmm?
Ton
smiled. I guess so.
Ausha smiled at him affectionately. You know, for a corrupt Earthon
traitor, you're an excellent physician.
Dr. Hovaus doesn't think so. He thinks I'm slow and rundown. Ton told Ausha
about his interview with their mentor and the new restriction in his working hours.
I don't understand it,
Ausha. At least half of the emergency physicians on
the day shift are volunteers. Then there are the staffs of volunteer nurses and
technicians both here and at the hospital. So why does Dr. Hovaus
now tell me that I can't volunteer my time anymore? It doesn't make sense.
You do spend a great
deal of time at the hospital, Ton.
Only time I want to
spend.
Isn't there anything
else you would like to do?
Have sex, but no one
will let me do that either!
Ausha patted his arm. That
settles it. You have no excuse now not to come with Bryaun
and Danal and me to our Coalition functions.
I want to work!
I'll pick you up and
carry you if I have to! We displaced persons have to stick together, you know?
Ton
rolled his eyes in good-natured resignation. I know.
Ausha telepathically turned on the telepathic transmission
recorder again, and she and Ton brainstormed on several new cases and compiled
reports on more than ten of their old ones.
They
finished their reports at the eighteenth hour and spent the rest of the evening
eating, relaxing, and debating with their colleagues at the Palm Pavilion. Ton
went home at the twenty-first hour that night, hoping by some remote chance
that Miaundea would be waiting there for him. She
wasn't, and he although he wasn't surprised, he was disappointed. He entered
the apartment cautiously, sniffing for Froquenza and
fresh osalaem smoke. He looked behind and under the
few pieces of furniture and checked the balcony before allowing himself the
luxury of relaxing.
Deciding
to forego his usual hour session with InterMind News
and Library, he lit a taffuao, poured himself some
cognac, and sank into the large reclining chair in his living room, obsessed by
a single question--why wasn't he dead?
A
spy who had been capable of entering his room in Launarda
undetected had certainly been capable of killing him then and was capable of
killing him now. Had Colonel Quautar been conducting
surveillance on him since his arrival? Even now he wondered. Maybe he had lied
too well. Maybe Colonel Quautar had believed
everything he had told him in that first interview, felt he was no threat and
in no danger, and was thus forgoing any attempt at surveillance. The only way
Ton would know for certain would be to ask the colonel himself.
Ton
shuddered. Colonel Quautar had no reason to tell him
the truth, particularly if he suspected him of being a spy. He would certainly
suspect him of being a spy if he told him that he had double-crossed Sanel King. Ton could hear the conversation now:
"Colonel
Quautar, you have to help me! Sanel
King wants me dead and has sent a woman agent to kill me. She was in my room
the night of the wedding. I didn't see her, but I know she was there. I smelled
that awful Erdean perfume Froquenza,
and I found a taffuao stub in the bathroom
sink."
The
colonel would look at him skeptically. "What kind of game are you playing
with me, Ton? Sanel King has no reason to want to
kill you."
"Oh
yes he does! My sister Jacquae wasn't the plant on
the Sovereign as Teren
thinks. I was the plant. Sanel King's D.I.I. agent
Daniel Stewart hired me to manipulate Teren and Deia and Paul into each other's favor, to be the third
helper in the escape, and to be the channel through which Stewart and his
agents would obtain the spirit dimension formula and kill Teren.
They were going to pay me three hundred and fifty thousand Earth dollars and
provide me a prestigious research position on Erdean.
"I
knew immediately upon learning about this assignment that if I accepted it, I
would be in a very powerful position of trust. I could just as easily sell out
to this boy Novaunian agent as kill him, and there
wouldn't have been a thing the Earthons could have
done about it. Novaun is a very rich, powerful, and
isolated planet, and I believed I could come here and be protected from the
D.I.I.
"The
thought of outwitting a Novaunian spy was tantalizing
enough, but the temptation to also outwit the D.I.I. and Intelligence Director Sanel King was more than I could stand, and so was my
desire to experience the spirit dimension formula in flight. I accepted the
assignment, intending to sell out to the Novaunian
agent. I came to Novaun with Teren
without a moment's hesitation or regret and, in the process, ruined Sanel King and all of his plans. That is why he wants me
dead."
Colonel
Quautar, angrily: "Do you expect me to believe
you came to Novaun because of a game? Do you really
expect me to believe that anyone could be that insane and suicidal? All for a game?"
"You
have to believe me! They are trying to kill me!"
"The
woman in your room is working with you. You know that Internal discovered the
rendezvous and that she was captured, and now you're making a desperate attempt
to cover yourself. You lied to Teren, you lied to me
in our first interview about your reasons for coming to Novaun,
and now you're lying to me again. And far worse than anything else, you've been
trying to seduce my daughter! You are done playing games on this planet, Dr. Luciani!"
No.
It was absolutely out of the question. He could not go to Colonel Quautar. King would have him when he wanted him. The only
questions were when and, more terrifying, how. He was no longer the player in
what had been an elaborate psychological game--he was the prize.
Ton
downed the remaining cognac in one gulp, cursing Earth's government. Why in the
universe didn't they give that son of Abomination King to the Novaunians? He was no good to them now, and it would have
saved them an enormous amount of trouble. It would have been a gesture that
would have persuaded the other planetary powers of the galaxy to regard Earth
with a certain amount of favor instead of putting an embargo on the sale of arelada and boycotting its products. Earth certainly wanted
the flow of arelada to remain unimpeded and the price
to remain stable. It needed to sell its products abroad to avoid economic
chaos, and it needed favor with the planetary powers of the galaxy, especially
now that Teren's report on its plans to conquer
several arelada-rich planets had been released on the
galactic level and Earth had subsequently been forced to withdraw all of its
fleets from the Alliance space territory.
Instead,
Earth had refused to give King to the Novaunians and
had provoked the boycott, causing the price of arelada
to soar. Then when Earth had tried to secure its own continuous supply of arelada by invading the Senlana
Republic, it had lost an astounding number of ships and warriors in what would
be remembered in history as one of the most devastating military failures of
all time.
Perhaps
Earth was proud, but it was not that proud. Perhaps Divine Emperor Arulezz Zarr was a despot, but he
was not a fool. What kind of power could King possibly hold over the entire
Earth government?
Ton
took one more draw on his taffuao, snuffed it out on
the small plate he used as an ash tray, then stood up and went to bed. He had
nightmares of dying. The nightmare was always the same. Miaundea
came to him wearing the pale yellow dress she had worn that dreadful night a
week before. They sat cuddled on the couch talking, kissing, and drinking
champagne. Then he felt a shot in his back and smelled the peculiar odor of Froquenza mixed with osalaem and
burnt flesh.
Sometimes
the woman with the immobilizer was Miaundea, her
yellow-green eyes shining malevolently. More often, the woman with the
immobilizer was a shadowy figure in the background, withdrawing as he groaned,
and Miaundea would clutch his head to her neck as he
died.
Ton
woke up with a start, drenched with sweat, his head throbbing. He reached for Miaundea and instead found a cold sheet. He forlornly
stroked the place in the bed where Miaundea should
have been, feeling no neurodart in his back, only the
abyss in his heart.
Snow
crunched under Paul's feet as he ran with Adaum Vundaun. The sun had not yet risen, but there was enough
light for Paul to see that his friend was in turmoil. Adaum
had not communicated a thought to Paul that morning, but Paul didn't have to be
a genius to guess that Adaum was distressed about the
information they all had received the day before concerning his brother Brys and his crimes.
The
family had been told early in the day. Eauva had
stood before the Criminal Council of Judges in Shalaun
early that afternoon and confessed her involvement with Brys
in aiding Jovem Doshyr's
escape from Novaun, supplying him with sensitive
government information, and concealing the fact that he was still alive and had
kidnapped Paul and Deia and their mother.
After an hour of deliberation, the Council had
declared Eauva guilty of treason and an accessory to
murder and kidnapping. She had been stripped of her position as proxy-counselor
to her father, indefinitely barred from practicing as a judge on any Novaunian planet, and sentenced to remain in prison until Sanel King was apprehended or proved dead.
Paul's
grandfather and Eauva had then made a statement on InterMind, during which Eauva,
heartbroken, had apologized for her crimes. His grandparents had temporary custody
of Brys and Eauva's four
children, which, in Paul's opinion, was the most depressing thing of all. He
could hardly bear to look at their sad, bewildered faces.
Paul
and Adaum completed their fifteen-kilometer run and
halted for a moment on the back doorstep to Adaum's
little home. Adaum spun around and charged Paul with
his thoughts, his angry pine green eyes the only part of his face not covered
by his hat and thick wool scarf, You're
so calm and unaffected you disgust me!
I'm not unaffected. I just don't know either Brys or Eauva well enough to be angry with them.
Your father's dead.
Your mother's dead. You spent most of the first eighteen years of your life on
Earth, controlled by a man who hated you, when you should have been here, and
all because my brother and Eauva were too cowardly
and criminal to tell anyone you were still alive. You're not angry? How can you
not be angry?
Paul
shrugged. I'm only angry at the
person who brought all of this about in the first place, and I'm not even so
angry at him lately. It just doesn't matter anymore. As for Brys
and Aunt Eauva, all I can bring myself to feel for
them is pity.
Adaum relaxed a bit, sorrow gradually replacing the anger. He
stared at the icy doorstep, unable for the moment to open the door and go into
the house.
Whatever Brys may be, I don't believe he's a black marketeer or a murderer. I believe as Aunt Eauva, that he was framed by my uncle, at least for those
two crimes.
I want to believe that
too, I really do, but even if he didn't kill those people, what he did here was
bad enough. You didn't know Brys.
He was stalwart. A leader. And exceptional in
everything he did. He was a great man. Adaum sighed deeply, a sigh
of betrayal. Or at least I always
thought he was.
Paul
communicated nothing. He didn't blame Adaum for
feeling angry and betrayed. Paul wanted to tell him that the grief would
eventually go away, but Paul didn't believe it ever would.
Adaum startled him with a question, seemingly off the subject: Do you still want to go back to Earth?
Paul
didn't know how to reply. Adaum wasn't supposed to
know that he had ever sincerely wanted to go back to Earth. No one was supposed
to know except Deia.
Adaum put his hand on Paul's shoulder. There are some things a person just knows. I wish Novaun could be everything you want it
to be.
Earth was never
everything I wanted it to be either. I could never go
back--I don't fit. I learned that on the Sovereign. I
do wish I could bring some of it to Novaun though,
because I don't fit here either.
Adaum regarded Paul knowingly. You want a fencing friend.
I
want a friend who can beat me. A real person. What an impossible dream. Everyone here thinks a sport that you fight
with swords is barbaric. They all think I'm odd, all of the young people. They
try not to show it, but they do. They don't know what to communicate to me, and
I don't know what to communicate to them.
You do all right with
me.
That's different.
You're paid to be my friend. His statement was almost true. Adaum
was one of his grandfather's district managers, and for over a month, Paul had
been learning the practical side of the business by working several hours a day
as Adaum's assistant.
Adaum laughed, a wonderful, carefree
sound in this time of his grief.
I also wish I could go
to Tryamazz and bring back some women.
Earthon girls must be very beautiful.
Paul
nodded. They're gorgeous--gorgeous
and exciting. Novaunian girls are just so plain.
They're so plain I can hardly stand it!
Adaum chuckled. Your
friend Miaundea Quautar
isn't plain. She's actually quite pretty.
A lot of good that
does me! She's Ton's girl. She's good for him, too. I think she may actually be
reforming him.
Jaunisa opened the door and looked out, shivering. Little Helauna peered up at Paul and Adaum
from behind her mother, her luxuriant auburn head pressed against her mother's
sapphire-embellished dressing gown. Jaunisa
communicated, What are you two doing out there? It's freezing!
Helauna then communicated in that playfully saucy way of hers that
so reminded everyone of her grandmother Maranda Vundaun, You'd
better hurry, Father, because I've almost eaten all of your breakfast. Then quickly, calculatingly to
Paul, I already ate all of yours.
She
squealed in delight as Paul chased her into the kitchen, captured her, and
mercilessly tickled her. Her two little brothers jumped on Paul, shrieking,
tackled him effortlessly to the ground, and attacked him with his own hat and
scarf.
*
Deia and Teren returned to Launarda after spending six days in Norund
skiing. Deia had never felt so relaxed, content, or
more in love with Teren. Although she hated the
thought of leaving her grandparents and Paul for an extended period of time,
she was anxious to return to Shalaun and get on with
her life. She wanted to finish organizing her home and complete her education. Lauria was teaching her how to cook, and Ketina and Alysia were teaching
her how to do gemstone embroidery. Deia longed to get
back to her piano so that she could play the new music that had been dancing in
her head for two weeks, music that harmonized with two beautiful mind songs she
had recently assimilated.
Paul
met Deia and Teren at the
landing field in Launarda, his face solemn.
"Have you two assimilated any news since you left?"
"No,"
Teren said, troubled. "Why?"
Paul
motioned toward the station. "Let's have some tea while we wait for your
luggage."
Teren and Deia looked at each other in
puzzlement, then nodded at Paul. They hurried into the
station, obtained cups of zaulyem tea from a synthesizing
machine, and sat down in the lobby.
Paul
took a sip from his cup of tea. "Internal Security found the
traitors."
Deia looked at Paul over her cup, stunned. "Traitors?
Just how many are there?"
"Two.
Brys and Eauva. Everyone is devastated. Grandfather and
Grandmother have temporary custody of the children."
Deia, in shock, couldn't speak or even think.
"When
did all of this happen?" Teren asked.
"Two
days ago." Paul proceeded to tell Deia and Teren everything he knew. Deia
listened to Paul, becoming more and more furious by the second. She had known
from the beginning that there was a traitor, but it all seemed so much more
real and intolerable now that the traitor had finally come alive in the form of
Brys and Eauva.
Deia crushed her cup in her hand. "I can't believe it. I
just can't believe it. Seventeen and a half years! Aunt Eauva
finally finds the courage to tell her story, but in the meantime, both of our
parents are dead!"
"He
was blackmailing them," Paul reminded. "They knew what he was capable
of and were even more afraid of him than we were."
"They
had no reason to be so afraid. They were here! On Novaun!
With the entire Novaunian Fleet to protect them! And
our mother was on Earth living in terror!"
Paul's
face tensed at the mention of their mother, and he stared at the floor, unable
to reply.
"Maybe
it would be better if we took the next shuttle to Shalaun,"
Teren said. "You could just send our things,
Paul."
Paul
shrugged and looked up again, his expression helpless. "I don't know what
to tell you. Grandmother has a room waiting for you, but everything is in
chaos--if I could leave now, I would. It's just awful, sharing the house with
those children. The little one doesn't understand what's happened, but the
older ones do, all too well. They're bewildered and betrayed--destroyed. Faunel won't come out of his room, and Brenda won't eat.
Yesterday Senaun disappeared. For
hours. It's awful."
Teren squeezed Deia's hand. "What
do you want to do, Deia?"
Deia shook her head quickly, her heart tight with anxiety and
anger. "I can't stay here; I can't see anyone right now."
Paul
stood up. "I'll go back to the house and get your wedding dress. Is there
anything else you need?"
Deia shook her head. "No. Just . . .
just tell Grandmother I'm sorry."
Lieutenant
Braysel Nalaurev stood and
stretched his stiff muscles as the Fleet shuttle on which he had been traveling
came to a stop on the landing field at the Fleet base in Shalaun.
Tapping his hand on his thigh, he wormed through the crowd of other Fleet
soldiers toward the exit, managing to be the third person to the ground. He
swung his white duffel bag over his shoulder and stepped into a mild, sunny Shalaun day, eagerly scanning the waiting faces. He saw Maurek Avenaunta, his close
friend and roommate for two years during his tour as a private on the Larv Ylendoshal, the same moment Maurek saw him.
Maurek rushed up to Braysel, exclaiming
in playful horror, What did you do to your face?
Braysel stroked his beard. This? It's a birth defect. And you thought my family disowned me because I
joined the infamous Fleet of organized murder.
Maurek laughed and threw his arms around Braysel,
embracing him vigorously. They had corresponded regularly over the past year and
a half since Braysel had been assigned to the base
ship Jerl Normundz for pilot training, but this was the first time since
then that they had seen each other.
They
released each other and moved toward a transport pod booth. Braysel
communicated colorfully about his involvement in the Senlana
conflict, explaining and illustrating in the air with his hands every detail of
his squadron's attack on the Earthon battleship Champion, Champion's destruction, and the eight Earthon fighters he had outwitted and annihilated in the
process.
As they stepped into the transport pod, Maurek slapped Braysel's chest
with its Star of Bravery and Sapphire Cluster, Decorated too! I think I'm envious!
What? Isn't watching Novaun rotate on its axis enough excitement for you?
Hardly!
If I remember
correctly, you're the one who requested Home Fleet so that you could finally
find some excitement with that little blonde supernova you're in love with. Braysel
hesitated. The subject was one so sensitive that he hadn't dared address it in
the inadequate one-way correspondence of mailing discs. You have managed to at least communicate with her
since you've been back, I hope.
Only long enough to
have her humiliate me all over again.
Those friends of yours
provoked her, didn't they.
No, it was the sight
of me that provoked her.
When are you going to
stop being such a jellyfish and tell her how you feel?
I did tell her how I
felt. I told her that I thought her dress was pretty, that she looked pretty,
and it made her furious. She communicated, "It's a miracle! Maurek Avenaunta deigns to give
my dress his approval. It's too bad there isn't a dance tonight. Perhaps I
would even go with you."
Braysel smacked the side of his head. What is it about that girl that turns you into such
an idiot? It never
ceased to baffle Braysel that Maurek,
a man who had always been successful with women, could be so obsessed with and
so terrified of one particular girl. You
had to compliment her on her appearance, of all things. She probably thought
you were being sarcastic.
How was I supposed to
know she would take it that way? I wanted her to know that I thought she was
pretty, despite what happened four years ago.
Still, Maurek, mentioning the dress was stupid. You could have
told her you liked the way she was wearing her hair, anything.
I've tried communicating with her several
times since, but she ignores me. She really hates
me, and I don't blame her.
I do. She hasn't been
the epitome of kindness to you either. Make her
communicate with you. Then at least she'll have a good reason to hate you.
She's just too
extraordinary, extraordinary and beautiful.
No woman is that
extraordinary.
They
stepped out of the transport pod onto the marble walk at the base entrance. Maurek shook his head in hopelessness. It doesn't matter anymore, anyway. She's in love
with Ton Luciani.
Braysel stopped abruptly and stared at Maurek
in disbelief. The
Star Force doctor-traitor?
Maurek nodded weakly. They
act like perverse lovers; then they act as if it's all a big joke. It's
obvious, though, that she's in love with him. Who knows how he really feels
about her.
Maurek had to be exaggerating. Perverse lovers?
Maurek nodded again, the muscles in his face tensing. She gave him a bottle of men's hair-setting lotion
for his birthday with a note that said, "For all of those wishes that will
forever remain wishes."
You
know what's perverse? That you would actually think hair-setting lotion is
perverse.
Maurek moaned. You don't understand. It was an inside joke. Teren
explained it to us. Not long after Teren returned to Novaun, Miaundea told him that Mautysian men were wearing mustaches. Teren
gave his opinion that it was only a fad. Miaundea
pointed out that everyone had once believed the comb-backed hairstyles were a
fad also. Teren asked how the combed-back styles stay combed
back, and Miaundea told him about the hair-setting
lotion. Then Ton communicated, "And just how many Mautysian
men have had the privilege of having you in their bathrooms with them to watch
them do their morning rituals?" Then Miaundea
came back with, "There have been so many, I stopped counting a long time
ago."
Braysel was
impressed. Your little girlfriend
has a sense of humor.
It's not so funny. That traitor's about the
most lustful character I've ever seen. You should see the way he leers at her!
Braysel shook his head, amused and a little perplexed. Something's wrong here, really wrong. He hurled his thoughts at Maurek. Since
when does a Novaunian woman do anything with a
womanizer but slowly, torturously deprive him of his manhood
and hurl him screaming in agony into a black hole?
Maurek laughed.
Braysel threw both of his arms into the air. My value system is shot to Andromeda, and all you
can do is laugh?
He shook his head in amazement. Your
little girlfriend must really see something great in him. Either that, or she's an ocean of insecurity. Or maybe she's an
enchantress.
Braysel stopped and
gazed thoughtfully at Maurek, who was now laughing
harder than ever. An enchantress . . . yes . . .
that has to be it. That also explains how a colonel's daughter, one of those
mistresses of Perdition in the flesh, was able to corrupt all of those poor,
innocent Mautysian boys.
Maurek laughed so ecstatically he could barely breathe.
Oh! The mere thought
of it makes me shiver with the thrill of scandal!
Maurek leaned his arm on Braysel's
shoulder, attempting to catch his breath. Only . . . you . . . would
recognize . . . the absurdity . . . of the
exchange between Miaundea and that Earthon about the hair-setting lotion.
You know, don't you,
that if she's a true enchantress, he's in her power, not the other way around,
which means that she'll undoubtedly transform him into her perfect husband!
Maurek suddenly stopped laughing, his face bloodless.
Braysel smiled deviously. I had to get your attention somehow.
Well, you didn't have
to be so brutal about it!
Now
that Braysel had Maurek's
attention, perhaps he could get him to see reason. Don't let her fool you, Maurek.
She's a little fake, a very convincing little fake. She's just as insecure as
the rest of us, and I have a feeling she was just as hurt by what happened
between you two that night as you were, and that she would give anything to
know how you really feel.
Maurek shook his head slowly. I don't know if I can believe that, Bray, I just don't know.
Braysel smacked Maurek's back and led him to the automated taxi that was
waiting for them, his heart pounding with the anticipation of competition. It's time to do the Run. You think Miaundea Quautar is the source of
your torture? Let me show you the meaning of torture!
They
took the taxi to the entrance building of the mammoth underground VisionRun complex in Auyval
Beach, quickly went to the locker room to change into their running clothes, then rode the transport pod down into the court area. Braysel and Maurek emerged from
the transport pod in the start-finish corridor at one end of the fifty
adjoining twenty-meter wide, one kilometer-long white rooms. They jogged to
separate lanes, deciding between themselves the limits of their game.
Let's make it
interesting, Braysel communicated. Eight obstacles. Setting?
Beach. No duplications.
The
wall dissolved in front of them, and they ran as fast as they could into
separate rooms, completely opening their minds to each other. Immediately upon
stepping into the rooms, they perceived themselves running on separate versions
of a beach.
A
headwind suddenly slammed Braysel with sand. Braysel spit and covered his eyes with his arm, bending
over and struggling against the wind as well as possible.
As Maurek ran, a beautiful sunbathing woman appeared in front
of him. He leaped over her, she suddenly turned to her back, and his foot came
down hard on her stomach, causing her to shriek with pain. He stumbled and fell
face down into the sand. He spit sand out of his mouth, scrambled to his feet,
and began running for the horizon.
The
wind dissipated, and Braysel's vision cleared, and he
nearly ran into a massive boulder. He lunged to the side and encountered
another one, and another. Finally he gave up and began climbing. Had Maurek truly possessed no imagination, Braysel
might never have forgiven him, but Maurek chose
physical obstacles opposed to mental ones because he knew Braysel
wasn't as good at them as he was the others.
A
wall of seashells suddenly appeared in front of Maurek
to block his path, and hanging on his arm was a basket of shells. Maurek halted, delighted and vexed. He dropped the basket
of shells and frantically began trying to match the shells in the basket to the
shells on the wall, frustrated that they all looked the same and wouldn't
match. After matching only two, he gave up and began climbing the wall,
climbing, climbing, until he had climbed five meters and still couldn't see the
top. The wall disappeared under him and again he was spitting sand out of his
mouth.
Braysel jumped off of the top of the boulder into a patch of
seaweed that coiled around his legs like snakes, pulled him to the ground, and
wrapped around his body too. He struggled to free himself, becoming more
tangled every time he moved. Braysel lay as still as
he could and gently unwound the seaweed from his body, then stood up and ran.
Maurek ran, dodging the fish that were swarming in the air around
him. The air reeked with the smell of fish and blood. A shark flew straight at
him, his teeth sunk into a quivering thing that looked like Maurek's
own leg. Maurek threw his arms over his head and
screamed. Braysel's laughter rippled through both of
their minds.
Suddenly
the ocean leaped toward Braysel from the side,
violently swirled around his ankles, and pulled him into the water. Braysel swam vigorously against the waves, feeling as if
his lungs would burst from lack of air. A minute and a half later, he was
running again.
Maurek removed his arms from his head and found himself on his
knees in a dark tunnel. He crawled along, feeling eels writhing all over his
body. He shuddered and continued ahead. He eventually crawled out of the tunnel
and into a starlit night.
The
beach opened beneath Braysel and he dropped into a
hole, screaming. This time Maurek's laughter rippled
through their minds.
Maurek raced into the starlight and ran painfully into an
invisible wall. The stars all around him blinked in different patterns,
blinking faster and in more complex patterns as he telepathically generated the
same patterns with his mind. He held his temples and panted. Finally he
generated the proper pattern with his mind and the wall dissolved.
Braysel climbed out of the hole and staggered across a spinning
beach.
Maurek ran forward a few meters to see an enormous, rickety old
sea-faring ship in front of him, shipwrecked on the beach. He ran up a rotting
plank to the deck of the ship and found that the ship had no deck. The plank
dissolved underneath him and he found himself sitting inside a dank, dark
compartment holding a tattered note on brown parchment, written in black,
blotchy ink:
"Awareness I give, your mind I
set free
This ship is your
brig, unless you find me!"
Maurek slumped over his knees. Give me some clues! Suddenly he was holding a fuzzy little gray kuka. Maurek set the animal on
the old wood floor, jumped up, and followed the animal to its bed, where he
found his first clue:
"I bob up and down till my survivor is found."
Maurek ran to the equipment room, finding his next clue on a
flotation device, then hurried from clue to clue to
find the arelada treasure.
Braysel flung himself out of the spinning beach, picked himself up,
and ran like spirit energy toward the horizon. He stopped abruptly, nearly
tumbling headfirst off a cliff. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead and
assimilated his surroundings at a glance. There was only one way he could go
and that was straight down at least fifteen meters into the ocean, where he
could then swim to the next shore. Terror gripped him. Diving off cliffs was Maurek's demented obsession, not his. You're going to pay, Avenaunta! Then holding his nose, closing
his eyes, and praying he wouldn't vomit in fright, Braysel
dropped himself feet first off the cliff.
Maurek found the chest of arelada
trinkets and the ship dissolved, leaving him horrified to see a
sixteen-year-old Miaundea Quautar
standing a few meters away, smiling seductively and wearing the shimmering,
crimson party dress that bared so much of her beautiful neck and back and
curved so harmoniously with her body. If you want to progress further, you have to kiss me. Maurek stepped back suspiciously, then suddenly sprinted past her. Scores more Miaundea-images appeared in front of him, all smiling
tantalizingly, all blocking his way to the finish corridor. Maurek's
heart pounded frantically as he stared at the Miaundea-image
that was standing in front of him. She appeared so real, breathtakingly real,
and as terrifyingly beautiful as she had been that night four years before when
he had met her at her front door to take her to the Salyumala
Ball. His hands trembled as he placed them on her waist and leaned to rest his
lips on hers. She wrapped her arms passionately around him and drew him closer.
He touched his lips to hers and she disappeared. "I'm going to kill you, Nalaurev!" Braysel laughed
sadistically.
Braysel pulled himself out of the water and onto the beach below
the cliff. He ran toward the nearing horizon and the finish corridor, only to
be tackled to the ground by a runner coming from nowhere.
After
the Miaundea-image dissolved, Maurek
plunged himself into his final obstacle, a sand-wall maze.
Braysel wrestled himself away from his attacker and again ran for
the finish corridor, dismayed to see seven more runners coming at him from
nowhere. He dodged two successfully before being thrown to the ground again.
Maurek raced through the maze in frustration, coming to dead-end
after dead-end.
Braysel blitzed through three attackers, went flying through the
air and into the sand, lifted his battered body the best he could, and crawled
into the finish corridor as another attacker dove at him from behind. Soaked
with sweat, Braysel prostrated himself on the floor,
laughing hysterically.
Maurek kicked the walls of the maze and threw sand wildly in what
he believed was the direction of the finish corridor. You cheater! There isn't any way out! You slimy
cheater!
The
sand maze disappeared, and Maurek stepped forward
through the white wall and into the finish corridor.
Maurek kicked Braysel in his side. Get up, you cheating snake!
Braysel, still laughing, lifted himself up on one knee. Maurek grabbed Braysel's shirt,
lifted him, and threw him against the wall with such force that Braysel gasped. Maurek looked at Braysel threateningly and, with all of the innocence and
false curiosity he could muster, asked the paradoxical question he always asked
whenever Braysel did something outrageous, the one
that always sent Braysel into convulsions: Were you a difficult child?
Braysel burst into another fit of hysterics. Maurek
released Braysel's tank top and leaned against the
wall, attacked by sudden laughter. If
only you could have seen yourself on that cliff . . . and you
call yourself a man . . . Only a jellyfish of jellyfishes goes
in feet-first . . . holding his nose!
Braysel shook his head and waved his hands in front of him, still
laughing. No . . . you were generating so much heat
in the arms of that girl that I was getting excited. Then . . .
He snapped his
fingers, then held his hands in the air. Poof! He
laughed gleefully.
It's kind of funny,
Bray, Maurek communicated, still laughing, but only a little. You had her all wrong.
Braysel looked at him in mock offense. Me? He who is Novaun's
greatest fantasy master? What? Would you rather have had me put her in her more
natural state of emotion and have her chop you up into little pieces and throw
you over the Cliffs?
He made vigorous chopping motions with his hands up and down Maurek's arm. I
guess it is your fantasy.
Maurek chuckled and shook his head. No, you had what she looks like wrong. It's been nearly four years and
she's changed. It isn't just that she's grown up, either. She's different.
There's just something about her eyes . . .
It was that two years she spent abroad, I think.
Braysel began walking toward the transport pod, not at all
surprised that Maurek wanted to discuss Miaundea. Maurek walked at his
side. Two years abroad? Where did she go?
Maurek shrugged. Anthropological fieldwork of some kind. My father might know. She works for the Agency.
They
stepped into the transport pod. She's
an anthropologist? How old is she?
She's almost twenty.
And she's already
spent two years in anthropological fieldwork? She's a librarian too, I assume.
Maurek nodded.
"Whew . . ." She must have some kind of mind. They stepped out of the
transport pod and went to the locker room to collect their bags.
She does. Maurek's
face tightened in irritation. That
was why it was so aggravating when that Earthon was
so humiliated to have to publicly communicate that she is his intellectual
superior. He had to do it to satisfy a wager he made with her, and it nearly
killed him. Who does he think he is? She's a hundred times his intellectual
superior! He may be naturally intelligent, I'll grant him that. Maybe he's even
naturally strong in mind power, but he's an Earthon.
He hasn't had an iota of the stringent mind training we've all had to have. I'm
his intellectual superior. And you. You could smash
his mind with a single thought!
Braysel laughed low and baitingly. Don't you wish I would.
He added quickly, before Maurek could continue with
his tirade, And I don't necessarily agree. We both know people
who are extremely strong in mind power but who don't use it in intellectual
pursuits. I think it's entirely possible that Ton Luciani
may have spent his life using the meager mind tools available to him in maximum
effort to develop an astounding intellect. I don't believe strong mind power
necessarily translates into strong intellect or vice versa.
Maurek glared at Braysel.
I do believe, however,
that Miaundea is, without a doubt, a hundred times
his mental superior. As for you and me? Braysel
shrugged. We're a thousand times his
mental superiors.
Maurek laughed.
They
left the building and waited many minutes for a taxi in communication silence.
Realization seized Braysel. She went to Saharenper,
I'm sure of it. What I would give to ask her about it! She probably couldn't
tell me anything anyway. The details of its culture may still be classified.
Saharenper? Maurek communicated,
baffled, as a taxi glided to a stop in front of them.
You don't know about Saharenper? Braysel slapped Maurek reprovingly on the back. You're slipping in your knowledge of current
events, my friend.
No, your brain has
gone nebula. Maurek sprang into the taxi. Whatever Saharenper is, it's not a major news
item.
Oh no. Of course it
isn't. Not yet anyway. Its existence was declassified to the Novaunian public two weeks ago, and only because the Earthons just discovered that the Gudyneans
discovered it and that they and we are doing studies on it. Braysel tossed his duffel bag into the
aircar and then followed it. Sometimes the most obscure pieces of information
are the ones that are the most important.
It has arelada, doesn't it?
Braysel nodded as the taxi lifted into the air.
Where is it?
Trentanlia Cluster.
That means it's
considerably more accessible to Earth than to the Alliance. Without a doubt,
Earth will lay claim to it. Maurek seemed troubled.
The Earthons will try, but Saharenper
is no uninhabited rock waiting to be raped by every galactic power as Erdean was centuries ago. There are people there, and
whether the Earthons like it or not, the natural
development of their society must be considered and respected.
The Saharenperans must not be space travelers, then. Otherwise
we would have had contact with them long before now. What is their potential
for space travel? Do they not attempt contact with other worlds because they
don't wish to, or are they simply incapable?
The report seemed to
indicate that they are incapable. It didn't state their actual technological
progress or anything at all about their culture, and those are both things I'd
like to know.
If the planet is
incapable of space travel and at the same time saturated with arelada, then it will need to be protected, and that would
be virtually impossible for the Alliance to do successfully without abandoning
its own territories.
Braysel nodded. Within a
year or two, Saharenper will be the cause of a
massive conflict between Earth and the Alliance, and it may be a conflict we
have no hope of winning.
Oh we could win it all
right. Easily. We could annihilate those Earthons to atoms if we wanted to, and we wouldn't even
have to use any weapons!
The Council of
Prophets has forbidden us to use mind-altering tactics. It would be immoral.
And killing isn't?
Braysel smirked. Now
you're beginning to communicate like my parents.
God gives us the right
to kill in self-defense, so why is it so immoral to break into someone's mind
in self-defense?
Because there would be
no challenge and making war wouldn't be nearly so much fun.
Be serious, Bray. I
don't understand it. The Dirons, in their three
centuries of decay, have never had the arelada supply
to engage us in a telepathic war, but their mind powers are still exquisitely
sophisticated and telepathic tactics would never work on them. The majority of Earthons, though, are telepathic midgets. It's infuriating
to have to grovel to them.
I disagree that
telepathic tactics wouldn't work on the Dirons. They
are so addicted to their fantasy that their minds are always open, and they may
use all of the arelada they seize to maintain their
vision abilities. It's possible they don't reserve the arelada
that would be necessary to generate mind shields strong enough to protect themselves as we do, not to mention the fact that we are
considerably stronger than they in sheer numbers.
So why grovel! Maurek
demanded.
Because
it is immoral.
Maurek shook his head in reprimand as the taxi came to a stop on
his neighborhood landing platform. Don't
be a jellyfish, Bray. Of course we know it's immoral. The question is: Why is
it immoral? The only reason you have such an aversion to trying to understand
what makes mind tampering in self-defense so immoral is because you're afraid
you'll discover that the things that make it immoral are the very things that
make killing in self-defense supposedly immoral, and if you do, you'll have to
admit that your parents and all of your pacifist kinsmen and countrymen are
right and that you are wrong.
Braysel clamped his teeth together in outrage. You, of all people, know me better than that.
Maurek smiled gravely. I
had to get your attention somehow.
They
telepathically authorized their banks to pay the taxi fare and unloaded in
silence. Braysel sent his duffel bag to Maurek's house in the transport pod. Braysel
and Maurek had walked many meters down the wooded
trail before Braysel allowed himself to relax a
little and reply, Well, you didn't have to be so brutal about it.
I'm sorry,
Bray, but this war with Earth really disturbed me. It disturbed a lot of us. I
can't help but question our policy against using mind-altering tactics. You can't expect me to believe that you've never tried to understand the
Order's stand on telepathic warfare.
Perhaps
Maurek really didn't comprehend the reasons behind
the Order's stand. Perhaps none of his Fleet comrades did. The thought
surprised Braysel. It was so simple. Had he never
discussed this issue with any of them?
Well? Maurek
pressed.
I've spent most of my
conscious life trying to understand the immorality of war in all of its aspects. Braysel
paused, mentally formulating an explanation. We know that as God teaches us, as mortals, the laws of the universe He
sometimes gives a more restrictive, modified version of certain laws at times,
sometimes because He wants us to make some decisions on our own, sometimes
because mortal circumstances won't allow living the higher laws, and sometimes
because if we were allowed to live the laws in their ultimate forms, we would
destroy ourselves.
Maurek nodded thoughtfully.
My parents and my grandparents
and all of their pacifist counterparts believe that in the ultimate version of
universal law, there is nothing whatsoever that takes priority over the
sanctity of the human life and human mind of another person, that only God has
the right to take a life or tamper with a mind, regardless of the
circumstances. They believe that this is the higher, ultimate law of the
universe and that God allows us to kill in self-defense and to protect our
culture and our freedom, therefore greatly restricting our spiritual growth,
because the majority of us are weak and lack the spiritual strength and faith
that God will by His own methods protect us. They believe that we, as a union
of planets, are not ready to live the higher law because we don't want to live
it.
They really believe
that? Maurek communicated in amazement.
Braysel nodded. That's
the core of Novaunian pacifism.
As much as you've told
me about your heritage, I don't think I ever knew that.
That's only because
you've never thought about it. You and I and every Novaunian
who supports the Fleet in ideology, whether we realize it or not, believe that
freedom of thought and expression of conscience is the ultimate law of the
universe, that we have the right and the responsibility to defend our freedom and
the integrity of our culture, even if that means killing in defense of
ourselves. If we believe that freedom of thought and expression of conscience
is the ultimate law of the universe, than it is inconceivable that we could
ever knowingly deny members of any other race, no matter how hostile they may
be to us, that same right. By using mind-altering tactics, we would be seizing
freedom of thought and expression of conscience from others and denying them
the very right we are fighting so hard to protect for ourselves.
That may be true, but
killing a person takes away his or her freedom as well, perhaps even more
ruthlessly than a simple mind adjustment would.
A minute ago, you
weren't advocating simple mind adjustments. You were suggesting annihilating to
atoms.
Yes I did, but now
we're discussing mere mind adjustments, all right?
Two
years ago, Maurek's attitude would have depressed Braysel. Maurek was a competent,
traditional, and patriotic officer, but he was like most of the others Braysel had met and been somewhat disillusioned by during
his three and a half years in the Fleet. Most of them hadn't the faintest idea
what they were fighting for. To them, freedom was a word, an idea. It wasn't
real. To most of them, Novaun's enemies were
monsters, not real people, and certainly not their brothers and sisters in
humanity. Even killing wasn't real.
All
right. Your argument that
killing takes a person's freedom away more ruthlessly than mind adjustment is
the same one my parents use, but in all honesty, it is ludicrous. When an enemy
warrior comes against me in some fashion and tries to kill me, he knows there
will be a fight, and he knows one of us will be hurt or die. He has already
made his choice, and whether he lives or dies, his mind will be the same as
when he initiated the attack. Even in prison, a person retains freedom of
thought. Earth's Eslavu are alive, but they have no
freedom of thought. Death would be an escape for them. Our current policy of
simply defending ourselves, our territories and trade, and giving reasonable
help to our allies is a policy of defending freedom. Your suggestion of mind
adjustment would make our enemies our Eslavu on some
level, and we wouldn't be defenders of freedom anymore, but conquerors.
So it's ultimately the
same old conflict, Maurek communicated thoughtfully. Which is more important, life or freedom? Is freedom worth giving our
lives for, and is it worth killing for? Then if freedom is the most important,
which is the greater sin against freedom? Taking someone's life or adjusting
his mind?
Right. And when you look at it that way, the answer is
obvious. Killing someone by crushing his mind is the most intolerable of all.
From both the pacifist and the Fleet points of view, telepathic warfare is
immoral.
There is still one
question. In the end, whose freedom is more important? Mine
or his? He can exercise his freedom and in the process assault mine.
That doesn't mean he has the freedom to choose the consequences of that
assault. There could come a time when our freedom is in such danger that we
would be justified in using our telepathic powers.
And that is the only
time that God would ever allow us to use them. Braysel shook his head. I don't know, Maurek.
If we ever do come to the brink of destruction as a people, then I will be the
first member of the Fleet to renounce telepathic warfare and support the
pacifist position. Our only hope would be to isolate and rely solely on the
power of God. With the entire galaxy against us like that, none of us would want
to be a part of it anyway. And under those circumstances, I doubt even
telepathic tactics would do much more than merely delay the inevitable.
Besides, the thought of marring someone's mind in any way revolts me. Those
poor jellyfishes on Earth are already victims enough to their own government,
as are the few remaining Dirons to their fantasy and
those savage warring admirals with their broken-down fleets. He felt ill. It's shameful enough that they make us have to
kill them.
The
two stopped in front of the home of Maurek's parents.
Braysel communicated numbly, I'm going to have to pass on the surfing today.
May I get a shower?
Maurek gaped at him. You
aren't . . .
It's been three and a
half years, Maurek.
Have you had any
contact with them at all?
Braysel shook his head slowly. But Earth's invasion of Senlana and the
murderous actions of Jovem Doshyr
have made me even more certain that what I'm doing in the Fleet is right. I
have to try and make them understand.
Maurek led Braysel somberly into the house
and showed him where he could take a shower and dress. Maurek
seemed relieved that no one was home.
When
Braysel emerged from the bath lounge, Maurek exclaimed, Are you insane? You can't go to Mautysia
dressed like that!
What? Is wearing a
Fleet uniform a capital crime? What are they going to do? Execute me?
Still, Bray, it
wouldn't hurt your position any to be a little discreet.
I'm not ashamed of
what I am. If the Mautysian people don't like it,
that's their problem.
Maurek walked Braysel out of the house. Just be back before tomorrow afternoon, if you
can. Teren and Deia Zaurvau are having a wedding reception. Colonel Quautar will be there, I'm sure, and he loves to discuss
politics. He just may let something slip about Saharenper.
Braysel looked at Maurek keenly. You don't have much faith in my success.
I don't mean to offend
you, but not even faith is going to change your parents' position.