IronStar (38 page)

“How many Kruss on-planet?”

« Sixteen, plus some guard
soldiers. »

“How many ships?”

« aass#aa, need water »

“Your information is not
satisfactory. Another mug of water when you remove your suit. You will be bound
again, but…”

« Psaa#sskaa! You are cruel! Need
water! »

“Do you see water coming to you? I
do not need Kruss. I will hold Kruss in a secure cell, until Regnum can
transport you to a neutral planet. I will trade food and water. But I will take
no chances. Your life is not worth even a small risk, to me or any of my
soldiers. I believe your suit has resources I have not been able to neutralize.
You will remove it now, or I will test its cooling system in that fire until it
fails. And a little farther.”

« Human tortures Kruss. Breaks
Civilium law. Penalties, sanctions. Bad… » The translator and talker fell
silent together, as Kirrah’s sidearm was suddenly pressing into the top of its
head. The human onlookers drew back, except Peetha, who was suddenly at
Kirrah’s side, eyes gleaming, her new Kruss blade drawn and ready.

“Don’t -
ever
- quote -
Civilium law - to me,” Kirrah ground out between clenched teeth. “Your vessel
fired on mine, no hail, no provocation, in free space.
Three
times.
That
is what the Civilium Scrutineer and Justice Board will hear. That, and how
the trauma drove me temporarily insane, and led to my regrettably excessive
caution
with the dangerous and uncooperative Kruss prisoner. Your Honor.” The Kruss’s
eyes were sphinctering open and closed, alternately. Its tongue lolled out one
side of its black-lipped mouth.

« You speak well, for a human. I
must comply. Unbind me and I will open my suit for you. »

“You insult my intelligence. First
release your suit seal, and retract its boots and gloves.” Alien fingers moved
against pressure pads in the gloves, and below the ropes, one boot split,
resealed, then retracted fully up into the cuff, exposing a hard leathery foot
about thirty centimeters long, with cream-colored three-centimeter razor-sharp
nails.

« I regret, the suit seal
malfunctions. Does not open. »
 
Kirrah
sighed and stood from her half-crouch at the creature’s side. Peetha’s eyes
questioned her, blade ready.

“I regret, the
beamer
malfunctions,” Kirrah said through her wristcomp. The Kruss’s eyes narrowed and
lips peeled back from black shearing teeth. She swiftly swung her sidearm down
and fired a searing bolt into the creature’s unprotected foot. Bits of steaming
flesh sprayed in all directions, splattering her startled companions. A high
screech stabbed into the night. The Kruss lunged galvanically against its
restraints, the heavy ropes creaking audibly. Air hissed harshly in and out of
the nostrils at the back of its skull, and its mouth opened and closed in a
rictus of agony. Several of her companions stared in shock at the sudden
violence.

Purple-rimmed black eyes rolled and
focused on her, slid away, focused again. The gray tongue licked at a ragged
place where the carnivore’s teeth had bitten into black lips. A stream of pale
pink fluid from the ankle’s stump slowed to a trickle and stopped as the suit’s
tourniquet activated automatically. Broken ends of three of the tough, clear
cartilaginous rods that the Kruss called bones, squeezed together under the
cuff’s pressure.
Hope that hurts
, something ground out in the back of
Kirrah’s mind.

“Let us review your situation. A
healthy Kruss can kill any number of armed humans. You, however, are bound,
helpless, and now missing a foot for your insults. If I intend to kill you, I
will do so now.” The beamer passed across the captive’s face, lingering over
one wide eye, then returned to its holster.

“You are a danger and an inconvenience
to me, nevertheless I intend to hold you until you can be safely repatriated. I
will tolerate no more games. Please, please do not open your suit, so that I
may cook you out of it over this fire. I would enjoy that, and I doubt my
companions know just how good roast Kruss smells.”

“You, you, and you,” Kirrah
gestured to wide-eyed soldiers standing in the circle around them. “Carry this
creature to the fire.” The men approached warily, but laid firm hands on the
being.

« #ssee! Pa#hhthss! I yield! I yield!
» The being’s suit split down the front from neck to groin, and the other boot
and both gloves retracted. With its muzzle wrapped tightly in a Wrth lasso and
two more around its neck, the Kruss was stripped from its suit one limb at a
time and rebound in the heavy mooring ropes. Kirrah’s sidearm kept vigilant
watch over the proceedings. Another cord replaced the suit’s tourniquet around
the oozing stump of ankle. An uneasy composure returned to the camp. Kirrah
realized some explanation of the confrontation was required.

“Listen to me, soldiers of Talam.
Your Warmaster will not always explain her decisions, but this has been
extraordinary. I want you to understand what you have seen. Know that these
creatures can regenerate lost limbs. I have not maimed it, I have temporarily
inconvenienced it. Half a year from now, it will have grown a new foot. In a
year, it will forget which foot was damaged.

“There is no safe way for men to
handle a Kruss. Many have died proving this. This one has attempted several times
to trick me into removing its bonds, and tried trickery to avoid removing its
armor. I believe its suit can be tracked by its comrades, and I know it
protects it from your arrows and blades. By destroying its foot, I have insured
it will not try to escape again, and convinced it to obey.

“Guard it well. If it makes this
sound,” Kirrah keyed her wristcomp, and three of the rattling (#) sounds
issued, “call for me. Otherwise, do nothing, nothing at all, to help it or feed
it or comfort it. It is
still
three times as fast as a man, and twice as
strong, and very dangerous. If anyone has the slightest doubt that this
creature can and will kill him, do not come within twenty
hab’la
of it,
on peril of your life.”

As the camp settled for the night,
she sent four men with torches and the Kruss suit, and orders to carry it at
least eight
doi’la
down-river, fill it with stones and sand, tie it
securely, and heave it as far into the river as they could. Satisfied that she
had done everything that could be done, she finally rolled exhausted into her
sleeping blankets and fell into a deep sleep.

Much later that night, Kirrah woke
to the sound of a ghastly shriek somewhere in the camp. Her tent flap burst
inward immediately and Irshe lunged inside, blade drawn, looking wildly about.
Struggling to consciousness, she found her sidearm and demanded:

“Who screamed? What’s happening?”

“
You
screamed, Kirrah
Warmaster. Where is the danger?” Peetha’s face appeared behind Irshe, looking
anxious. From outside came the sounds of men stumbling out of their bedrolls,
weapons being drawn.

“I… I screamed?” Memory rummaged
over the preceding few minutes, found nothing but blackness and sleep. And the
sound of a scream.

“Kirrah’
jasa
, it is a dream
of
kaena’hachk
.
Issthe
can help you with it when we return. Do you remember any of it?”

“Irshe, nothing… I remember
nothing. Blackness, deep sleep. The scream woke me.” Suddenly Kirrah was aware
of being filled with energy, all thoughts of sleep evaporated. The tent seemed
intolerably confining. “Peetha, please tell the camp, it was only a bad dream.
My apologies for waking the soldiers. Irshe, I need to walk. Please walk with
me.”

Ten minutes of brisk pacing around
the camp perimeter seemed to drain off the frisson of energy and settle her
jangled nerves. The night was half spent, the largest moon high in the sky. Its
golden light turned the zenith a deep, deep purple. A gauze of stars showed
through.

“I am sorry, Irshe
’jasa
. I
acted like a foolish schoolgirl. That was more frightening than the Wrth and
the O’dai together. It was only a bad dream, but frightening,
because
there was nothing to be frightened of.”

“Kirrah
’jasa
, we learn that
there are no ‘bad’ dreams, only strong ones. I hope you will seek Issthe’s
assistance, she can show you how to use this strength.”

“Hmm, I believe I will talk to her.
I am becoming sleepy again, yet I am not anxious to repeat that… whatever it
was.” Irshe paused, his eyes searched her face in the flickering yellow light
from the campfires.

“I do not know your customs in
this, Kirrah
’jasa
. If you were raised as Talamae, I would offer to lie
beside you the rest of the night, and it would be clear I meant not as mate,
but as simple
pathazza
, a
comfort-between-friends
. If you like, I
would ask Peetha, or another. We would perhaps all sleep better.”

“I thank you most sincerely, Irshe
’jasa
,
that is …very kind. I believe I will sleep well now, but I do not want to be
inside a tent tonight. Perhaps you and Peetha could arrange your sleeping
blankets in the open, not far from mine…”

Ten minutes later the three were
bedded down under the stars. As she slid once again over the edge of slumber,
she was followed by the errant thought:
And what
would
it sound like
to a Talamae-raised
,
if you
did
mean as mate?

“This I know - that the only way
to live is like the rose, without a ‘why’.” - Meister Eckhart,
op.cit.

Four mornings later, after three
days of seemingly endless riding and an even more wearing day of high-spirited
celebration that started a kilometer outside the gates, flowed into a
spontaneous victory parade through the city streets and ended in speeches in
the palace grounds of Talameths’cha, Kirrah drifted slowly up from sleep.

A very
nice
sleep
,
she thought muzzily, one arm across Irshe’s bare chest rising and falling
steadily beside her. In her mind, voices were already arguing, but she ignored
them like children bickering in the next room.

What
took
you so long?

What will you do in another
hundred fifteen days when the Navy arrives, Lieutenant? ‘Well, it’s been nice,
bye’? Or did you plan to just kind of take him back with you, like some sort
of… specimen?

Phooey, we already talked about
that, this was just a nice friendly romp, everyone understands that!

Do they? Do we understand enough
about Irshe’s culture that you know all the implications for him, of sleeping
with his commander? Or with someone who’s leaving? Or with a woman who fights?

Understand Irshe? Who are you
kidding? She doesn’t even understand what this means for
her
!

Well, he
is
a sweet man, and very understanding.

Exactly
why this is such a bad
idea…

That’s not what you said last
night, dearie!

“Mmmph!” she proclaimed, shaking
the voices out of her head and sitting up. Irshe’s eyes opened lazily, and a
slow soft smile spread across his narrow face. Kirrah smiled back:

“So much to do! The transport for
the stranded O’dai. The holding cell for our Kruss prisoner. The return of the
Wrth’s prisoners. The steam boats.”

“My Warmaster is troubled”. Smiling
gray eyes belied his formality.

“Your
Warmaster
is feeling
better than she has in
days
, thanks to that whatever-she-does treatment
Issthe gave me last night.”

“The
ath’lae’mara
? You mean
it wasn’t my steadfast performance of duty and my careful attention to the commands
of my Warmaster?” Both smiled. Kirrah’s fingers interwove with his as she sank
back onto the bed.

“Well, that too. What does ‘
ath’lae’mara’
mean exactly? I recognize ‘
ath’lae’
, I would say ‘priest’. Let me see
that device-which-speaks.” Kirrah reached to her suit draped across the chair
beside her bed and began tapping on the wristcomp. Irshe thought for a moment,
held his palms about ten centimeters apart over his body, and replied:

“It means
light-drawn-forth
.
When performed by one as skilled as Issthe, I have also heard it called
ath’la’doma.
”
Kirrah recognized this unfamiliar word combination as ‘spirit-sculpture’.

“It is such a simple thing, most
are trained as children to do it. Although the
ath’lae
receive more
training and have more experience. Does the Regnum not teach its citizens to
guide their
ath’la
with their hands, so?”

Hands
… Kirrah remembered
Issthe’s hands the evening before, moving in graceful sweeps down her tired
body and aching limbs, a few centimeters from her skin. The warmth that seemed
to follow those hands. The sense of well-being that followed the warmth. The
same warmth, just as intimately present, yet of an additional, more physical
merging, that accompanied her first tentative lovemaking with Irshe later.

Wait a minute, how had we gotten
from supper to sitting in the outer apartment while Issthe did her magic, to
…wherever “later” was?
There’d been a superb meal, Akaray wide-eyed and
full of questions, the nearly-worshipful attitude of the students on
serving-duty towards Kirrah, Irshe, Peetha and anyone else who’d been part of
the campaign. After a nod exchanged with Slaetra, Issthe had taken Kirrah in
tow to her apartment, and spent perhaps a quarter hour in
ath’lae’mara.

There’d been a meeting after, Irshe
bringing a few reports of urgent concern - the securing of the Kruss, suitable
quarters for the O’dai fleet-captain, while Akaray listened from the side with
the profound silence of a bright child hoping his bedtime won't be noticed.
Tash’ta, bringing clean pillows and a vase of fresh flowers, had spotted the
lad and swept him off to his room, leaving them alone. Then they’d sat and
talked for just a few moments more. Conversation had moved casually from
military training to her personal background, from there touched on her former
life and friends, her crewmates… She’d teared up at the still-aching memories,
and as she’d suddenly, unexpectedly sobbed, Irshe had completely naturally put
warm arms around her…
damn
, that had felt comfortable. He’d finally made
to depart, uncertainty in his face, and she’d almost grabbed at his hand. The
rest had unfolded as easily as her suit…