Alien Redemption [Clans of Kalquor 06] (4 page)

“Indeed.” Erybet considered her and seemed about to say something else when something on his belt beeped. He scowled at no one in particular. “My apologies, Matara Rachel. I hate to do this because I want to know more, but we do have an appointment.” He smiled an apology to her. “Hopefully, Conyod will tell us more of your story, with your permission.”

Rachel nodded.

Conyod didn’t move as his clanmates stepped back and waited for him. With obvious reluctance, he told her, “We have a meeting with a Matara tonight. Our clan was randomly picked for the honor by the lottery.”

Rachel’s heart dropped. His clan was actively pursuing a Matara?

Gee Conyod, it would have been nice if you’d mentioned that before I wallowed all over
you.

His obvious discomfort didn’t keep his gaze from meeting hers. He looked hard at her, as if trying to communicate something. Rachel thought she understood. He didn’t want another woman. He wanted her.

But the other two men had better options than a broken down, scarred, and mute female.

And two votes versus one would leave her out in the cold. Or did clanning a Matara require a unanimous decision?

She’d have a lot of questions for Conyod at their next session. For now, she had to let him go to his … oh, she hated to think it …
date
. She managed a tight smile and nodded.

With rapid-fire typing, she told them all
, I hope you have a pleasant evening. Good luck to
your clan.

Erybet smiled and answered for them all. “Thank you, Matara.” He gave his Imdiko a sharp look. “Conyod?”

“Of course. Good night, Rachel. I look forward to further developments tomorrow.” With a last look, he followed his clanmates, leaving her behind.

The dinner cart arrived at her room just then. Rachel gave the orderly a wan smile as she accepted her platter and walked inside with a meal she had no appetite for. She sat down at her small table and ate anyway, knowing not eating wouldn’t sit well with the psychiatric staff.

Rachel chewed slowly, not tasting any of the ronka meat and gusasp that she’d normally enjoy.
Conyod wants me
, she told herself over and over. But the words weren’t the celebration they should have been.

Rachel knew better than to fool herself. There was a chance she and Conyod were done before they’d even properly begun, what with two other men in the equation. Plus, they were interviewing likely Mataras. Crap.

She liked to think she wasn’t petty. Perhaps they’d meet a woman who would be a good match for all three of them. Someone who would make a wonderful mate for Conyod, maybe erase that undercurrent of sadness from his soul. But even though she knew it was childish, Rachel couldn’t help but wish that one of the men would accidentally dump a bowl of soup on their date’s lap tonight.

Chapter 2

Erybet commed ahead to the Matara they were supposed to be meeting this very moment, a woman named Maria. Fortunately she was running late too. “No problem,” came her bright voice over his com. “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

She sounded nice. Sweet. But Conyod knew she would be nothing compared to Rachel.

No woman would.

Snapping his com back onto his belt, Erybet shot a look back at his Imdiko who trailed behind. His expression was both exasperated and concerned. “Is Matara Rachel the one who’s keeping you from us these days?”

Rachel was a big reason. She’d come into Conyod’s life just a little before Erybet and Sletran had returned from the war. Working with her, discovering the sweet but tough mix of her personality had eased a lot of the crushing loneliness at the time. Conyod had not been exaggerating when he told her he’d wanted her from the very start. He’d known he was in love early on.

She had also become a convenient excuse to avoid two clanmates Conyod no longer recognized. These were not the men who’d left Kalquor to fight the war against Earth. Even Sletran was a stranger now, nothing like the Nobek Conyod had adored since he was a teenager.

His hero had not come home.

He didn’t want to tell them these things, but he couldn’t outright lie either. Both men knew him too damned well. “She’s part of it.”

Erybet scowled. He kept his voice low. “People change, Imdiko, especially men who have been through war. Just because we’re not quite how you remember us—”

Here we go again.
Conyod couldn’t keep the furious hurt out of his voice. “You’re nothing like the men I clanned with. I’m not stupid, you know. I understand war changes people, but this is beyond that. If you’d just give me a hint as to what happened, maybe I could find something to grasp, some common ground where I could meet you.”

Erybet stopped and swung around so quickly that Conyod would have run into him if Sletran’s arm hadn’t shot out to stop him in time. Before Conyod could catch his eyes, the Nobek looked away, his gaze darting away as if ashamed.

Conyod couldn’t remember the last time Sletran had looked him in the eyes.

They were just in front of Conyod’s office, and Sletran yanked him towards it. “In here. If you two have to fight about this again, at least do it in private.”

The three went in. The door shut, leaving Conyod alone with his clanmates. Erybet loomed over him, his lips pressed tightly together. Conyod returned the glare, not giving an inch.

Sometimes he thought he hated his Dramok. If Erybet would give just the tiniest bit, Sletran might open up and tell Conyod why he’d hacked his once waist-length hair off. Why he shouted

“No! No!” in his sleep, his voice breaking in horror and despair. Why he sometimes disappeared for hours at a time and wouldn’t tell them where he’d gone, re-appearing with bruises and scratches all over his body.

Sletran was self-destructing. And until Erybet let him speak, Conyod could only stand by and watch his hero fall apart.

Yes, sometimes he really did hate Erybet. Like right this moment.

“Damn it, it kills me when you look at me like that,” the Dramok said, his shoulders drooping. “Don’t you know I’d tell you everything if I could? I’ve never kept secrets from you before. But we’re sworn to do so now by the Imperial Commander himself.”

The defeated look Erybet wore made Conyod’s anger waver. He knew Erybet was hurting too. That perhaps the Dramok himself was lost in an emotional storm no less destructive than Sletran’s. But seeing the frozen blankness on Sletran’s face that didn’t quite hide the torment in his eyes made Conyod feel mean.

Damn it, Erybet was their Dramok. He was supposed to lead his clan, to put their welfare ahead of all else. His voice cold, Conyod told him, “I don’t know anything anymore except my clan is falling apart, and you’re letting it happen.”

Raw anger sparked anew in Erybet’s expression. Sletran picked up on it immediately and pushed Conyod back a little, angling his body so that he was between the Dramok and Imdiko.

Protective as always. It was the one thing about Sletran that hadn’t changed.

That made Conyod’s vision swim, and he blinked hard. Damn it, he wanted his Nobek back. And his Dramok too, for that matter, as mad as Erybet made him. So he didn’t hate his leader after all. If he did, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

Grief made Conyod’s throat and chest ache with physical pain. He tried to hold onto control, to not show weakness. He’d gotten pretty good at it lately, but this time restraint failed him. He barked out a harsh sob.

Ashamed, he turned away from both men.

Erybet sighed, a soft, defeated sound. “I’m sorry, Conyod. I know you don’t believe that, but I am. I’d lay down my life for the two of you. If I thought it would fix things, I’d throw myself off the cliffs. My Imdiko, I’m doing the best I can.”

And Sletran, his deep voice trying to be gentle, said, “He is, Conyod. Erybet’s hands are tied in this matter. It’s my own fault I’m doing so badly, not his.”

Erybet’s voice again. “It’s not your fault, Sletran. None of it is.”

There was a long silence there, one that told Conyod that Sletran still blamed himself for all the anguish that had befallen the clan. And when Sletran got upset, he disappeared. Conyod was terrified that one day the Nobek would pull one of his vanishing acts and not return.

So stop weeping like a child and act like you’ve got a backbone. He needs you to be strong.

They both do. It’s not the clan I started with, but it’s the one I have now.

Conyod took a deep breath. Squared his shoulders. Impatiently scrubbed off the betraying tears that had escaped.

He turned and faced his clanmates. They looked back at him with twin expressions of concern, pain, and resignation. It was that last element that made Conyod’s stomach churn. It was as if the two had seen something so horrible that it took away all hope for joy in this life.

To Erybet, he said, “I’m not going to let this go, my Dramok. I don’t care if all the ancestors commanded your silence. I can’t watch the two of you suffer so badly and do nothing.”

One corner of Erybet’s mouth lifted. His gaze soft on Conyod, he said, “You’ll only stay mad at me if you keep pushing it. Concentrate instead on our opportunity to clan a Matara.”

Conyod pushed down a fresh flare of anger. Keeping his voice even, he said, “We have no business pulling a woman into this mess. How can we properly care for a childbearer when we’re falling apart ourselves?”

“The Matara is the center of the clan. With one of our own, we will have a collective purpose again.” Erybet’s tone and expression firmed. “You will not destroy this opportunity, Conyod. This is our third attempt, and we only get five. We won’t come up in the lottery again.”

“Well maybe there’s a woman for us who isn’t in the lottery yet.”

Sletran’s face brightened with sudden interest, an event in itself. “The one we met? Your patient?”

Erybet scowled. “She looks like a fine woman, beautiful and brave and strong, to be sure.

But there’s no guarantee your Rachel will want a clan once she’s released from here. We have a chance tonight with a woman who has confirmed her interest in mating with Kalquorians. Don’t be a fool, Conyod.”

Erybet didn’t see that Conyod had already fallen in love with Ray-Ray. That no other woman would do for the Imdiko. Before the war, he’d have noticed right away. Erybet’s inability to see how Conyod felt underscored how much the man had changed.

A chill filled the Imdiko’s belly. His voice as cold as his insides, Conyod said, “Shouldn’t we be going then? I thought we were late, Dramok.”

Erybet’s eyes narrowed at his tone. “Thanks to you,” he shot back.

He turned to the door, which obediently opened for him. Erybet left the office with long strides, not bothering to check that they followed him.

Sletran’s hand closed on Conyod’s shoulder and squeezed. “He is trying, my Imdiko.”

Conyod looked into the haunted eyes of his clanmate of 18 years, his beloved champion for so many more. “Not hard enough, Sletran. Not hard enough by far.”

He followed Erybet, keeping pace with Sletran so they walked side by side. Even with the Nobek painfully distant, Conyod still preferred his company over Erybet’s. It was impossible to be mad at Sletran when he was so obviously wounded. And Erybet was Sletran’s immediate commanding officer in the military. Whatever had happened to him was ultimately on the Dramok’s shoulders.

Sletran’s long strides meant they caught up to Erybet in short order. Wanting to stay near the Nobek’s side put Conyod between the two men. Next to Erybet who couldn’t, or simply wouldn’t, answer the mystery of what had happened during the war.

Conyod saw two familiar figures heading down the hall towards them. One of the men he genuinely liked; the hospital’s head psychologist Dr. Govi, Kalquor’s leading expert on Earther Matara trauma. The handsome man was dedicated to a fault. Too dedicated perhaps. Rumor had it that Govi’s Dramok had insisted he cut back on his hours for the wellbeing of their clan. It wouldn’t have surprised Conyod to learn such a thing was true. Imdiko Govi cared for his damaged charges like a father for his daughters.

The second in charge of the department was not such a favorite of Conyod’s, nor most of the staff. That Dr. Kivokan was talented was not disputed. But there was something cold in the Dramok psychiatrist’s demeanor that all his copious charm couldn’t quite mask. And his readiness to mindwipe the more damaged patients – to erase not just their memories but their entire identities – didn’t sit well with the majority of the staff. Conyod had privately voiced his objections to Govi and been relieved to find his supervisor agreed. Only two women had been subjected to the mindwipe procedure thus far. Their horrific experiences of multiple rapes since childhood had left them both completely insane. It had probably been for the best for them to start from scratch. Even so, Conyod had still shuddered at the terrible blankness they’d emerged from the treatment with. He didn’t like to think about it, though intensive restructuring therapy had made them happy women with new identities and good, productive lives.

Fortunately, Kivokan concerned himself more with administrative duties than actual one-on-one therapy. Conyod got along with him for the most part, especially during the war when they’d both been deprived of their clanmates. Kivokan’s Nobek was Erybet’s immediate commanding officer, just one step below the Imperial Commander, Emperor Bevau.

Govi immediately hailed Conyod’s clanmates with an easy grin. “Good evening Erybet and Sletran. It’s been a long time since I last saw you around here. Have you met Dramok Kivokan?”

Erybet nodded his respect to the two doctors. “He is clanned to my commanding officer.

Good evening to both of you. I am sorry to be abrupt, but we are extremely late for an appointment. We’re here to collect Conyod and be on our way.”

Kivokan waved off Erybet’s explanation and Govi shook his head to show no offense was taken. “Not at all, please go. Is it the lottery? Conyod said you’d been given the opportunity.”

“Yes. Fortunately, she is as late as we are, so I hope there is no harm done.”