Rediscovery (41 page)

She tried to talk, and couldn’t; her voice was nothing more than a rasp, and she was tired, so incredibly tired, as utterly drained as if she had tried to hold the relays open for a tenday by herself.

“Don’t talk,
chiya”
Ysabet said quietly. “Here, let me help you drink this—the things you need now are rest and sleep—”

Leonie shook her head, turning her face away from the cup of some potion that

Ysabet offered her, until finally, with a grimace of exasperation, Ysabet put it down.
All
right, then,
the woman said, mind-to-mind.
What is it that is so urgent it cannot wait?

There is a debt I must pay
—
an obligation.
Leonie told her as much as she could without revealing how her unauthorized contact with Ysaye had taken place since she arrived at Arilinn. And while she could not lie mind-to-mind, she left out enough that Ysabet made the conclusion that Ysaye, an untrained and therefore unpredictable

telepath, had seized on Leonie’s mind as she was attacked, not the other way around; and Leonie had reacted to the unexpected double-attack as she had been trained. Leonie, raw and open as she was, saw Ysabet come to all the conclusions she had hoped the woman would, and felt a weary relief. She said nothing of the blood-debt that Ysaye had laid on her; she only made it seem as if she feared to sleep with this debt unpaid.

That, at least, was not feigned; sleep would bring dreams, and those dreams would certainly be nightmares. Leonie did not want to face those dreams just yet.

Reluctantly, Ysabet agreed to let her rest without the medicine for a little while, so long as she simply lay in her bed, quietly.
I
shall bring you some fruit juice in a moment,
Ysabet said.
I
must go and lay this tale at the feet of the Keeper and she will make of it
what she will. Let us hope that this star-woman was the only one of her people with so
much
laran.

With that, Ysabet let her down upon her pillows again, and Leonie, obedient in

appearance, at least, closed her eyes.

But the moment the woman had left her room, she marshaled the last of her weary

strength, and sent out a thought-probe in the direction of Aldaran, seeking two minds now drifting on a Ghost Wind.

When Elizabeth and David were lost behind the rim of the hill they had topped,

Zeb realized that he had probably done something pretty stupid, letting himself be goaded into this little expedition. He was alone, completely alone, with an unpredictable alien—and about to experience the effects of some kind of hallucinogenic drug. He knew better, from his years spent growing up in Arizona, to think that any “natural”

hallucinogen must be weaker than a synthetic. Try and tell that to the peyote-chewers!

Once again, as if he sensed Zeb’s growing unease, Kadarin asked, “Are you sure

you wouldn’t rather seek shelter against the Ghost Wind?” There was a hint of mockery in that voice that made all his Terran-engendered macho instinct rise up on its hind legs and beat its chest.

“Not a chance, friend,” Zeb replied. “I’m not afraid of any wind that ever blew, or ghosts, or any drug that’s ever been.”

But out of the back of his mind, he thought he heard his grandfather saying
There
ain’t a hoss that cain’t be rode, but there ain’t a
man
that cain’t be
throwed.
So you
better remember before you aim to fork a bronc that you may not be the man that kin
ride that hoss.

Well, it was too late to back out now; as they topped the next ridge, dismounted, and tethered their horses, the wind blew straight into their faces. The smell of the pollen was heavy and resinous, and for a moment, Zeb felt as if he were fighting to take a breath.

He’d done his share of experimenting, on Keef and in the spaceport towns of a

dozen other worlds; there was no doubt in his mind that this was a very powerful drug, both psychedelic and intoxicating. It took effect almost immediately.

At first, the main effect was one of euphoria, an incredibly uplifting sense of well-being. He sat right down on the soft, long grass, and watched the sky break up into splinters and shards of light above him. Kadarin perched beside him, and he could feel the watchful, amused regard of the alien.

Kadarin did not seem to be as strongly affected as Zeb. And that only reminded

him of something that had occurred to him a few days ago. Strange, how much Kadarin looked like a human, when everything he said and did showed that he obviously wasn’t.

Zeb had lived and worked with nonhumans all across the Terran Empire;

sometimes he was the only human on a Survey crew when personnel got stretched thin.

He was well known for being a man who was as near to being without prejudice as any human could be, which made him a prime candidate for such assignments. What struck him at this moment was how little the other crew members had realized how
very
alien Kadarin was.

It wasn’t anything that showed on the surface, although in general a native species either was fully human, or obviously was something else. And you only had to look at Felicia to know that some of these—whatevers—were cross-fertile with humans, which just wasn’t supposed to happen according to the biology Zeb knew. And on top of that Felicia had given birth to Aldaran’s child, which showed that the hybrids were cross-fertile, too…

Though the baby had six fingers on either hand, and a pair of eyes like butter-

amber. Not exactly the kind of traits that cropped up all that often in human families.

That led to another question. Funny, how his mind kept running on with

questions, while his body was perfectly content to sit here and breathe in this amazing pollen. Was
Kadarin
cross-fertile with humans?

I’m not sure.
Kadarin said, without opening his mouth.
I
have no children
—
and
it’s not for lack of trying.
He laughed then, wryly, which did require opening his mouth.

I
am far older than I look, believe me; all my kind are. Did you know I was a good deal
older than Kermiac? I was born
—
you may believe this or not, as you like
—
in the same
year as Kermiac’s great-grandfather. I suppose I am like a mule of sorts; any horse-breeder will tell you that a mule is sterile.

Zeb nodded at that; his grandfather had bred mules for the tourist trade.

And now and again in a zoo, you will see other species interbreed. Lion and tiger,
for instance. Not often
—
but sometimes those species are close enough for the offspring
to be fertile. So I may be a mule, and Felicia may be a tigron. She is a normal female
—

but she is much younger than I am.

It suddenly occurred to him that either this was a hallucination, or it was

telepathy. But if it was a hallucination, where had Kadarin gotten the concept of

“tigrons” from? Those were Terran animals; he could only have plucked it from Zeb’s mind.

So this must be telepathy. Maybe Elizabeth wasn’t as gullible as Zeb had thought.

He covered his eyes for a moment with his hands, to shut off the light-play and think better. How after this could he manage not to believe in telepathy?

No—a lifetime of skepticism could not be left behind. It still didn’t make sense.

This could still be a hallucination. It didn’t take telepathy to make him
think
that Kadarin was talking to him.

“How can you manage still to disbelieve?” Kadarin asked, and this time it was

with real words. Zeb took his hands away to make sure the man’s mouth was moving.

“Or is there nothing that would prove it to you beyond a shadow of doubt?”

Was
that
the reason for all this dare-double-dare machismo? To put him into a position where he’d supposedly get evidence that would make him a believer? “Not that I can think of,” Zeb replied.

“Then I suppose I will simply have to wait until circumstances prove it to you,”

Kadarin said. “But I have to tell you, Zeb, it truly troubles me to be thought dishonest. I do not lie; none of my people lie. We are, most of us, gifted with at least enough telepathy that we know when we are being lied to.”

He fell silent, and once again, Zeb heard that voice in his head.
I
suppose I should
not be surprised that these head-blind men do not believe in anything they cannot see or
touch.

The air was still filled with the heavy scent of
kireseth
blossoms. Around them, Zeb watched the little creatures that lived in the grass and the trees as they, too, were affected by the pollen. A squirrel—or rather, something that was almost like a squirrel—

ran lightly down a tree at the edge of the grove in front of him. He found himself feeling what the little beast felt.

Now that was distinctly odd, for it
was
all feeling, with no real thinking, and it wasn’t something he would have been able to make up for himself. It was enjoying the warm day, and the heavy, aphrodisiac scent of the blossoms on the air; the heavy resins worked differently on the little creature’s brain than on his. It had lost every trace of fear, the euphoria and disorientation that should have bothered it mattered not at all, and its only quest at the moment was to find a female. And even that was not so important; if no female of the right size—let alone the right species—wandered near, it would simply roll in the grass and play like a kit with the sunbeams…

This was a lovely world. At first, Zeb hadn’t cared much for it, too cold, too

windy, too mountainous. There was a streak of what his grandfather used to laughingly call “an eco-freak” in him, a streak that his grandfather shared, and he just hadn’t been able to warm up to this planet.

But now it was sharing itself with him, and he realized how much he liked it.

He’d almost forgotten this other part of himself, being in space for so long. But now, this pollen had made it all wake up again; had put him in touch with his truest mind, his innermost self. And he wanted to be a part of this world, as he had never wanted to be part of any world, even long-gone Terra. When he’d had to sell his grandfather’s ranch to pay the back taxes, it had just about broken his heart, and he’d turned his back on Terra and headed straight into space. But now this place had just opened up for him, and he felt as if it was offering itself in place of his long lost love.

And there were people who needed him here, too. Felicia, and baby Thyra.

Kermiac Aldaran wouldn’t be around forever, and neither would his lady—and besides, little Thyra needed a daddy, and Felicia was one of those gentle creatures that needed a husband-protector. Not every woman did, and that was fine with Zeb; he liked seeing a proud and independent woman in operation in the same way he liked to see a mustang running free, without seeing the need to break either one to bridle and saddle. But for him—well, he needed to be the protector. And sweet Felicia needed someone like him.

Was that why Kadarin had goaded him into this? He acted like Felicia’s big

brother sometimes; was he trying to get Zeb to see the whole picture going on here?

Maybe so; surely if he hadn’t, there was a real likelihood Zeb would have finished his work here, and drifted on, just as he had on every other world he’d put down on.

But now—this time, he’d put down roots; he’d stay. And it seemed to him as if the world about him sensed his acceptance, and accepted him in turn…

Yes, he’d stay; he’d stay just like Elizabeth and David, and his kids (and Felicia’s) would grow up to play with their kids, all Darkovans together.

The meadow in front of him wavered, and vanished, and in its place he suddenly

saw the walls of the ruined castle the Lornes had been heading for. Only it wasn’t deserted. It was full of men, and he knew as well as he knew his own name that these men were the same kind of lawless varmints that had made parts of the Old West

impossible for honest men to live in. Bandits, that was what they were—

And then, he saw to his absolute horror, that they had David and Elizabeth

prisoner.

They had to get back. They had to get help! And they had to do it before it was too late. “Bob,” he said decisively, “I’ve got to get back!”

Kadarin rose lazily to his feet. “Any time.”

Zeb listened to Commander MacAran’s briefing, with no sign that he was short on

sleep and long on adrenaline. Now that something was being done, the pre-mission calm that always settled over him had flung its cushioning over his nerves. It was out of his hands now, and into the hands of his superiors. Now he no longer had to make decisions; just take orders.

It was dark now; they would attack at dawn.

“All right, so far as we can tell, there’s no back way into this place, and no hidden entrances,” muttered Ralph MacAran, who had been made chief of the rescue team.

“Just to be sure, though—I want the flier to come in right on top of them, so nobody’s going to be able to pull a fast one on us and sneak the Lornes out at the back.”

He was already in shock—they all were—from the grisly deaths of Ysaye and

Ryan Evans. And then, Zeb and that native, Kadarin, had come pounding over the

horizon, having ridden their horses to collapse, with this. One horrible disaster after another.

Zeb Scott, who would be the pilot, nodded tersely, and headed for the craft.

Within moments it was airborne, and the plan was to have it come over the horizon at tree-top level as soon as MacAran gave the attack signal.

“The rest of you, fan out and cover the entrance; Kelly, you’ve been working with Lorne and you speak the language better than anyone else, so once we’re in place, take the bullhorn and tell them they’re surrounded. Tell them to surrender, give them a few minutes, and if they don’t walk out under a white flag within five minutes, back off.

Then I’ll be putting a few smoke-bombs over the walls, just as a warning. If that doesn’t work—well, then it’ll be up to Zeb and the SWAT team. And to keep them from getting out the back, I’ll lob a few incendiary grenades into the woods.”