B00CH3ARG0 EBOK (26 page)

“Remarkable,” he said. “Her sensitivity is ... unusual.”

“You’re like a sun,” she whispered. “Like a horseman of the
apocalypse. Like a volcano inside a hurricane...” She sighed and passed out.

The Sural fixed Cena with a look. “What can you do for her?”

Cena shook her head. “I am uncertain,” she replied, as she
ran her scanner over Laura. “She is merely unconscious.”

“You said she reminded you of the Jorann,” Marianne said.

“The Jorann was closed to me during the time I was in her cave,
but something about Laura is reminding me of her.” Cena tapped her chin, lost
in thought for a moment. “If there is a functional reason why the Jorann lives
in an ice cave...” She searched a nearby cabinet and pulled out a small,
rectangular bag.

“What are you thinking?” the Sural asked.

“Perhaps cold numbs such sensitivity.” She pinched a corner
of the bag, which rapidly became covered with frost. “It seems to be driving
her into a kind of delirium. This cold may help her to regain some lucidity.”
She laid the bag on Laura’s forehead and ran a scanner over her again, keeping
an eye on the bed console. “Her metabolism is quite high.”

“That might explain why the Jorann likes it so cold in her
cave,” Marianne said.

The Sural nodded, rubbing his chin. “Laura’s presence does
feel very like hers,” he said.

Laura stirred again. She put a hand up, felt the icepack, and
pressed it hard into her forehead with both hands. “That’s better, thank you,”
she said in a strained voice. She avoided their eyes. “I’m sorry for what I
said.”

The Sural gave her a warm smile. “How do you feel?” he asked,
his voice gentle.

“Like a fool,” she said, flushing pink. “It’s so hot in here.
Every nerve in my body is jangling.”

“It causes difficulties to chill these quarters, but I will
have the temperature in your guest quarters lowered,” Cena said. She called a
servant to order it done. Running her scanner over Laura’s forehead, she added.
“The empathic nerves are not yet fully formed. They look otherwise normal, in
number and size.”

“What does that mean?” Laura asked.

“It is likely your sensitivity will increase over the coming
six to eight seasons, as your transformation progresses.”

She groaned. “What have I gotten myself into?”

“We’re all in this with you, Laura,” Marianne said.

Laura heaved a sigh. “I know.”

“Perhaps Storaas can be of some assistance,” the Sural said.

Cena raised her eyebrows. “He will have to resign himself to
being read quite thoroughly.”

“We all will,” Marianne added.

“I guess it’s a good thing we have my whole visit to figure
this out,” Laura said, her mouth set in a pained frown.

“Imagine if you only had a few days left here, and me busy
with a new baby.”

“It’s like ... someone turned on a new channel in my head
and the volume is set too high. Your feelings are shouting at me. I don’t even
have to think about it – I just
know
.”

“You can even read the Sural with his barriers closed,” the
Sural said. “Remarkable. Only the Jorann can do that.”

“I’m jealous,” said Marianne, feeling mischievous.

He shot her a fond look. “If you want to read me, beloved,
all you need do is take my hand.”

“Uh-huh. Then what was Laura referring to when she said you
should tell me something? Tell me what, hmm?”

He flashed his enigmatic smile.

“You should patent that smile.”

“I’m sorry,” Laura whispered.

“For heaven’s sake, Laura, stop apologizing,” Marianne
snapped.

The Sural raised an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “I’m going to have
my baby by tomorrow. I’m allowed to be cranky.”

“Are you indeed?” he replied with a glad smile, leaving
Laura’s bedside to sit on the arm of her chair.

“That’s what Cena tells me.”

His smile turned affectionate. “As the humans say, ‘I will
clear my schedule.’”

Cena turned to Marianne. “If you can, you should eat. It
will give you strength for the birthing process. Then sleep as much as you can
before it begins.”

Marianne struggled out of her chair, with the Sural’s help.
“I am a little ... peckish. If you don’t need me for anything?” Cena shook her
head and turned back to Laura. “Then I’ll just go to the refectory and get
something to eat.” She looked up at the Sural. “Coming?” Then she waddled out
of the room with studied grace, toddled down the hall, and entered the
refectory.

* * *

She launched her offensive as soon as she took her place at
the high table. “So what is it you haven’t told me?”

The Sural raised an eyebrow and studied her. He hadn’t told
her any number of the painful memories he’d accumulated over the course of 290
of the humans’ standard years, and he couldn’t be sure to what Laura had been
referring. He wasn’t prepared to tell her about the ships he’d been informed
were on their way from the Earth Fleet base at the star they called Epsilon
Indi.

“Stop staring at me!” she said testily, biting into a grain
roll at him. “Damned Tolari stares,” she mumbled, in English, with her mouth
full.

He was hard put to conceal his amusement.

She squinted at him. He hadn’t succeeded.

To mollify her rising ire, he searched his memory and chose a
deep, personal hurt to reveal. Considering what Laura had been revealing about
his apothecary, it was as likely as anything else to be what she meant. “It may
be,” he said, shifting to English, “that Laura was referring to matters which I
have mentioned to you, but not in any detail.”

“Such as?”

“My sons who did not survive the great trial.”

“Oh,” she said. Her mood shifted. “I’m sorry for your loss,”
she said in a soft voice, continuing to eat in silence.

When she finished the roll, he took her hand. “It was long
ago,” he said. “When the deaths occurred, I was alone in my grief. Perhaps I
should have shared it with you before now, but—” He stopped and shrugged a shoulder.

“You’re used to being strong.”

He shrugged again and reached to brush her hair away from
her face. “Are you certain this is the time you want me to tell you about it?”
he asked, lowering his hand to her swollen midsection and giving an empathic
caress to the glowing life within her. The baby started to hiccup.

She looked down at her belly with a doting smile. “No, I
guess it’s not really the best time for it. She’s coming soon. I’d better get
some rest.”

He helped her out of her chair and escorted her down the
corridor to the family wing. “Marianne—” he began, as they came to the heavy
and ornate door of his own quarters.

“Yes, beloved?”

“Your daughter ... should be born in the Sural’s quarters.”

She stopped and gave him her best approximation of what she
called a Tolari stare. He was successful in masking his amusement this time.

“All right, but why?”

“She will be ruling caste, and Terelia will need a ruler. If
she is to be the Terelia, she should be born where rulers are born.”

Marianne’s mouth dropped open. “Well,” she said. “Well,” she
said again, looking preoccupied.

“I will explain my reasoning to you another time, beloved.”

“Well then, I had better sleep there now, because I think
I’m beginning to have contractions,” she said. “Cena said I should try to get
as much sleep as I can before the show starts. I know I won’t want to move once
it does.”

Marianne napped between contractions through the night. The
Sural used the time to work in his private study and get ahead on reports. As
dawn approached, he received an alert: a diplomatic vessel from Epsilon Indi
had arrived, accompanied by an Earth Fleet command carrier. Both ships were
holding position outside the cometary belt. He uttered a low growl. Marianne
heard it from the next room and woke.

“What is it?” she called.

He went to her, pocketing his tablet. “An annoyance,” he
answered, as he knelt next to her, sitting on his heels. She wrapped her arms
around his waist, her sharpening discomfort pricking at him. “Shall I send for
my apothecary?”

She nodded. He gestured at a servant.

“This is getting uncomfortable.”

“Breathe,” he said. She scowled and threw a punch at him. He
caught her wrist in a gentle grip before it landed.

“Phooey,” she said. He chuckled.

When Cena arrived, followed by a nurse and an aide, he tried
to leave, but Marianne tightened her grip around his waist.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she said.

Cena’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “An Earth custom?” she
asked.

“She has told me that human women customarily choose a
birthing partner,” he answered. “It is often the man who fathered the child. Clearly,”
he looked down at Marianne, “she has chosen me.”

Cena nodded. “You may stay.”

“Oh
thank
you
so
much,” Marianne said, her
voice thick with sarcasm, “but it’s not up to you.”

The healer looked into Marianne’s face but said nothing.

“Beloved, will you allow me to attend to a pressing matter?”
he asked. “I will return as quickly as I can.”

She raised her head to look at him. “What could possibly be
pressing at this hour of the morning?” she demanded. Then her eyes narrowed. “Oh,
you’re kidding me.”

“Even so.”

“If I ever see Addie again, I’m going to
kill
her,”
Marianne said, baring her teeth. She let go of him. “Go, get out of here.” She
pushed at him pettishly.

He went.

* * *

The order was on the Sural’s lips as he entered his head
guard’s quarters. “Tell me.”

“The diplomatic vessel has moved to a position just outside
the orbit of the tenth planet,” his guard said. “The command carrier waits
farther out, in the cometary belt. The diplomat is signaling on the channel
used by the Marann’s communications unit.”

“Accept the connection. Talk to them.” He paused. “Do not
speak English.”

At a tap on the console, a well-groomed human appeared on
the monitor. The guard gave a polite nod. “I am Vidar, head guard to Suralia.”

“I am Gallagher Wallingsby,” the human said in fluid, almost
unaccented Suralian, “Lord of New London and Special Secretary for Interstellar
Affairs, Earth Central Command. I would like to speak to someone with authority
to negotiate for the return of Marianne Woolsey.”

The Sural frowned. It was an interesting ploy. He nodded to Vidar,
who switched the monitor’s focus. On the monitor, Wallingsby’s eyes widened,
but he remained silent.

Well-trained, the Sural thought. “Speak,” he said.

“You honor me, high one.”

“Why are you trespassing here?” His tone was flat. “I have
not lifted the interdict.”

“High one, you are holding one of our citizens on your
planet—”

“I have no unwilling guests here.”

“We understand that, high one. We understand that Citizen
Woolsey does not wish of her own accord to leave Tolar. It’s a known
psychological phenomenon among us. She has come to identify with you and your
people. The colloquial term for it is ‘going native.’”

The Sural raised an eyebrow and remained silent.

“If you will allow me to speak with Citizen Woolsey
personally—”

“No.”

Wallingsby paused, thinking. “May I know the reason for your
refusal?”

“She is otherwise occupied.”

“If she could be informed that I wish to speak with her—”

“No.”

“How may I communicate with her?”

The Sural waved a hand. “She does not wish to be disturbed
at this time.”

“Why would she not want to know that her people are
concerned for her welfare?”

He paused to stare at the human. Pushing him a little
off-balance might prove enlightening. “She is in my quarters.”

Wallingsby looked a little startled, then uncomfortable. Suppressing
a smile, the Sural finished, “Giving birth.”

The human opened his mouth. Closed it. Then a broad smile
split his face. “Earth offers Citizen Woolsey sincere wishes for a safe
delivery and congratulates her on the birth of her child.”

The Sural nodded.

“We’ll be in touch.”

“No.”

“High one?”

“You will leave now.” It was a command. “You are not welcome
to return.”

“I’m afraid I can’t comply with that, high one,” Wallingsby
said with a smile. “Central Command insists.”

The Sural stared. “You defy me?”

“No, high one, we only want to have our citizen returned to
us, when she’s recovered from the birth, of course. As soon as we have her,
we’ll leave. Her child will be welcomed as a citizen of Earth.”

“Her child is a daughter of Suralia and under my protection.
Marianne does not wish to leave, and I will not compel her. Nor will I permit
you to take her against her will.”

“With all due respect, high one, that’s not for you to
decide. She’s safer with us. It’s for her own good, and in accordance with our
laws and policies.”

“You are aware of the fate of the Earth ships that preceded
you?”

The man leaned forward toward the monitor. “We scanned your
system carefully before we approached, high one. Whoever has been protecting
you is nowhere in the vicinity. As Special Secretary for Interstellar Affairs,
I understand and respect your authority, but I really must insist. We fly a
diplomatic flag. We carry civilians on board, even children. Any aggressive
action taken against this ship will be considered an act of war.”

The Sural didn’t speak for a long moment, outrage seething
in his gut. Suppressing it, he forced his voice to be mild. “You shield yourselves
with children?”

Wallingsby smiled engagingly. “Of course not, high one. This
is a diplomatic vessel. The crew is accustomed to traveling with their spouses
and children. Why should they be left behind when we can trust any civilized
leader to value innocent life?”