Defiance: (The Spiral Wars Book 4) Read online

  She gestured to Semaya as she ate, and the slim, impossibly elegant woman glided across the tiles. “Kuran esh,” she began carefully. “Mei tolie rhen ai…” and paused in frustration, trying to think of the correct future tense form.

  “Airhal ma,” Semaya reminded her gently. And activated her small speaker, as Lisbeth wore no earpiece, newly out of the water. “I would like,” spoke the speaker. “You will have language class next, and then you would like…?”

  “I would like to speak with Nahltira once more,” Lisbeth said in English, abandoning her broken Porgesh for the moment. “You promised me I could.”

  “Nahltira is indisposed,” came Semaya’s translated reply. “She is a senior historian of the Togreth, her services are in demand.”

  “Then find me another,” Lisbeth insisted. “I was promised access to your best, and I shall have it.”

  Semaya gave a serene bow, and glided away. Not long ago, Lisbeth would have been horrified at her own rudeness, making such demands. But lately, among parren, she was realising that manners would only get her so far. Parren valued decorum, but they also valued power. Lisbeth was a hostage here, held by the Domesh as blackmail against her brother, and even parren accepted that some degree of indignation was justified. When some unconfirmed enemy had sent an assassin to kill her eighteen days ago, Lisbeth’s guardian sentry, an assassin bug designed by Styx and sent by Hiro Uno to protect her, had killed the assassin first, and intrigued her captors. They couldn’t see it, but they knew it was about somewhere, watching her, and them, and lethal if it chose. That they would all become suddenly more polite around her, she could have predicted. That they would make no attempt to capture the bug, or to otherwise disarm her, had been unexpected.

  Her time on Phoenix with Stan Romki had confirmed to her that many of the Spiral’s species respected power. Trying to be nice, as some Homeworld pacifists still suggested, could actually be dangerous, as it invited disrespect potentially followed by attack. The assassin bug gave her power, not only in that it could kill any who threatened her, but that it indicated old and formidable knowledge that was hers, and a connection to things that various parren found both intriguing and frightening. Some denominations would no doubt have killed her on the spot, learning of her links to these things. Fortunately for her, neither the Domesh nor the Togreth were that sort of parren.

  In the meantime, she made a schedule of her time here. Exercise in the mornings, then language lessons, then history and politics. Being here had afforded her an opportunity given to few humans in all recorded history. An opportunity to learn about the parren from the inside of their most dynamic power structures, where it really counted. As well, it played to her strengths and kept her busy, focused with a purpose that prevented her from thinking about just how many of other parren factions would like to kill her. If Phoenix failed to grant Aristan the fruits of its most recent mission, the Domesh themselves would kill her. Or that had been the original threat. Whether they would still follow through on that, given her rapidly changing status here in the Domesh Temple, she did not know.

  Before stepping into the halls of the temple, she had to be presentable. A chair was brought, and several maids attended to her hair with pins, combs and ribbons. It was odd, because parren had no body hair whatsoever. Traditionally, scalps were for decoration, with crests and crowns, hoods, hats and other, tiara-like creations that human culture had no words for. Body hair was something that happened to the very old — that unpleasant grey peach-fuzz that the wealthy and high-status would have plucked as soon as it appeared.

  Lisbeth’s hair did not seem to disgust them, however, for it was thick, brown and full of curls. Done properly, it could surround her head in a big, fuzzy halo, and the maids who worked on it now were specialists, brought for the task of making such an odd thing look if not appealing, then at least acceptable, to parren eyes. Lisbeth supposed that in this more than anything else, she looked alien to them. That, and the fact that she weighed more than any parren man her own height, and more again than the women. Parren were wisps, and made everything graceful, like flowing water.

  “Does this please, my lady?” came one maid’s translated voice in Lisbeth’s restored earpiece. Lisbeth observed in the mirror she held. A backwards-facing tiara made a circle of the hair on the top of her head, which was in turn pulled back tightly over a horizontal comb. The hair at the sides was also pulled back with combs, then held with binding ribbons. The effect was almost severe, and Lisbeth calmed her face, to give the mirror a suitably haughty look. She’d be needing that, in this place.

  “It pleases,” she agreed. All of this work just to return to her quarters, a fifteen minute walk. As her status here had risen, so had the time taken to perform even simple tasks.

  “What are the colours of your people, m’lady?” the other maid asked as she worked. “Parren have only this brown and red, yet humans have many.”

  “Human colours used to be distinct,” Lisbeth told her. “A long time ago, when Earth was still living.” Both maids paused in their work to make a small gesture of sorrow, heads bowed. Then they returned to their work. Lisbeth found that touching. “There were many different races. But the survivors of Earth all had to live together on space stations and colonies for a long time, and in close proximity the races all began to mix. Some pure races still remain, but perhaps only one-in-four of all humans. Today we are all descended from those survivors.”

  “I have researched the databases, m’lady,” said the maid. “For inspiration, in human styles.” Brushing hard and inserting another hairpin. “Many of the humans with this curly hair have black skin. But others have straight hair.”

  “My father is very dark,” Lisbeth agreed. “The old Earth place was called Africa. The dark ones with straight hair are probably from another place called India. Major Trace Thakur of the UFS Phoenix is of the Indian race.” Despite barely being able to find India on an old Earth-map, she recalled with amusement. “My family is more African than any other, but when I look at the pictures of my ancestors, I find white people, Asian people, all kinds of people. Most humans today are like that.”

  This inspired the maids to talk of the parren races, and how they had changed across the millennia. It was interesting talk, and Lisbeth congratulated herself on having learned how to get the best information from her hosts — information from parren mouths, communicating what parren actually thought, rather than the dry data from her books. Parren could be quite open and friendly, even with a human, but only once the protocols of status and position had been established. These maids had come to feel confident of their position with regard to Lisbeth, and so, despite her considerably greater importance, felt at ease to converse with her.

  Once prepared, Lisbeth stood, and her maids glided to the door. A phalanx was formed, and Lisbeth departed the pool room from their care, and into the assembled ranks of her Domesh guards on the other side. These were all men, and clad in the obscuring black robes of the Domesh, hoods up and only the eyes visible above their veils. To the front of the formation were a pair of Tuvenar — junior Shoveren, the psychologist/priestly class that presided over the rules of flux and phase-change. These two held ornate staves, and one held a large scroll over a shoulder, upon which Lisbeth knew would be scrawled the relevant laws by which an alien could be held as captive in this manner. The scroll would be presented to any who challenged, and made a shield between her and any legal attempt to alter her status. Which could mean anything, from a verbal challenge, to an assassination attempt. So far, thank god, there had been only one of those.

  The pool room corridor gave way to a vast and gleaming hall, with enormous stone walls that towered above a floor polished smooth like ice. Upon great pedestals rose the stone figures of animals, some mythical, others real, all majestic and a few rather frightening with snarling teeth and sharp claws. Elsewhere along the walls were tapestries with brilliant abstract patterns, while others depicted scenes from old mythology. Lisbet
h knew what only a little of it meant, and though she learned more every day, she thought she would still feel like an alien in this place if she had to live here another decade.

  High-ranked parren gave them space in the hall, and inclined their heads. Lower-ranked parren stopped walking entirely, and sank to one knee as the entourage swept by. The lowest-ranked parren prostrated themselves face-first on the smooth stone. Most here were black-robed Domesh, but not all. The Kunadeen was the seat of government of all House Harmony, and parren from the various temples and denominations did mix, sometimes on business, other-times for pleasure or diversion.

  Telling the non-Domesh from the Domesh was easy, as the Domesh black robes clashed against the more vibrant colours of ‘typical’ parren dress. Domesh did not force their dress code onto others, for to be Domesh was to be withdrawn from the temptations of colour and vibrancy by choice. Still, Lisbeth wondered at all the decoration in the temple. The Domesh Temple was very new, rebuilt on the command of Aristan’s predecessor, and following precisely the preserved plans of the previous, much older Tahrae temple that had stood upon this site. On Stoya III, where the crew of Phoenix had first met Aristan, the Domesh Temple had been all black minimalism and sensory deprivation. Here, the style was restrained, but positively loud and joyful compared to that. Yet the Domesh insisted that they followed the teachings of the Tahrae, in the avoidance from that which would clutter the mind, and make thoughts impure and decadent. Lisbeth found the inconsistency striking, and wondered that no parren remarked on it.

  Her party rounded a wide corner, heading for the vast stairway that would take her up to her quarters. At the base of the stairs awaited another entourage of black-clad men. This one was headed by a full-Shoveren, a priest/psychologist himself, clad in stately blue and flanked by a pair of Tuvenar. Lisbeth’s party approached, then halted. A command was cried, an alien echo off the high ceiling, and the wall of black robes about her slid to the ground, heads bowed, leaving Lisbeth exposed and standing in their midst.

  She did not know if it was improper for her to stand, but here it was her very alienness that granted her authority. She stood tall, and fixed her face with the very same haughty look she’d practised in the maid’s mirror.

  The opposing phalanx parted to reveal another, older, black-robed man. She could tell he was older, because the Domesh guards were all young, full of athletic swagger, and plainly armed beneath their robes. This man was not, and his approach to her held none of the stylised intimidation of a younger warrior. As he came closer, Lisbeth recognised the indigo eyes of Gesul. Obra, the word was for his rank, and it meant many things that Lisbeth had not yet grasped. What she had grasped was that Gesul was the second-most-senior parren in all the Domesh Denomination. With Aristan away, he was in charge of this entire temple, and all of its affairs.

  “Greetings, Ashara,” he said via the translator. Ashara. That was the official word for what you called a hostage, taken to force a bargain. Lisbeth had not yet figured that one out, either. Parren were so regimented, surely, that they could not be blackmailed. Would not most parren hostages simply commit suicide, so as to avoid being a burden on their masters? “I have news of your brother. Walk with me.”

  For a moment, Lisbeth stood paralysed. At her side, now kneeling, was Timoshene. He was her Tokara, the senior of those designed to protect her. And also, if Phoenix reneged upon its deal with Aristan, to kill her. She took a deep breath, and willed herself not to tremble. “Gesul-sa,” she said, with what she thought was the proper courtesy. “If I may offer advice. When you speak to me on matters that concern my personal safety, it is best that you speak clearly. It can understand speech, including parren speech, and it will kill if in doubt.”

  Several of Gesul’s dark-robed guards pulled fabric away from hips, where weapons were worn. In Lisbeth’s lower side vision, she saw Timoshene tense, crouched against the floor like a cat. Would her own guards fight to defend her even from Gesul? Her guards were sworn by honour to die in her defence, and if the honour of a Domesh Tokara had any limits, Lisbeth had not seen it.

  Gesul made a one-handed gesture within his robe, as though moving aside some invisible obstacle that floated between them. “It is my mistake,” he admitted, with all the nerveless cool of a senior Domesh. “I will clarify, Ashara Lisbeth, for your protector’s benefit. News from Phoenix is incomplete and preliminary, but it is good. You are safe from the final settlement.”

  “I am pleased to hear it,” said Lisbeth, her heart restarting. “What is the news from my brother?”

  Was it her imagination, or did those wide, indigo eyes flick about her clothes, searching for a sign of her protector? Lisbeth had seen many of her maids do so, but without any particular fear. They understood that their guest’s personal sentinel would only harm them if they threatened her safety. To live beneath such endless anxiety would have caused great stress to humans, but the parren were serene. As though they considered it entirely proper that such an extreme breach of decorum should be punished with immediate death.

  “Walk with me,” said Gesul, extending a robed arm. “We will discuss.”

  He turned, and Lisbeth walked, her guards arranging themselves amidst Gesul’s entourage in turn, a rustling, black-robed wall. Lisbeth did not know where the assassin bug was right now. Almost certainly it had found some hiding place among the folds of her gown, for it was too large to fly before so many eyes undetected. Lisbeth suspected that it could hide itself with some kind of optical camouflage, chameleon-like, to better blend against its background. Occasionally she would hear it buzzing, somewhere near her collar, perhaps to advise her of its presence. But today she’d not seen or heard it at all.

  “There has been no word from Phoenix directly,” said Gesul, gliding at her side. “But it appears that they have been at Kantovan System.”

  “I know,” Lisbeth admitted. Gesul turned, and gave her a cool glance from within his hood. “Tobenrah told me, when he summonsed me ten days ago. He said that he had met my brother, in fact. At the wrong end of his marines’ guns.”

  Gesul said nothing for a moment, obviously surprised. The grand hall turned left onto a viewing platform, where a lattice frame made a mesh before the grand view of the courtyards in place of a window. The Domesh Temple made few concessions to modernity, not even glass, and all high-tech fittings and displays were kept as discrete as possible. The wide balcony held an arrangement of benches and plants. Some parren were enjoying the view, and now departed in graceful haste, to make way for the VIPs.

  “Kantovan System is in uproar,” said Gesul, pausing to consider the view. Guards spread about the balcony, watching all entrances, and each other. “Your brother was due to give a speech at the Tsubarata. This was interrupted by an assassination attempt that wounded one of his men, and killed some bystanders and tavalai guards.” Lisbeth was not shocked — Tobenrah had told her this tale as well. “But the best Domesh intelligence now suggests that this speech was itself only a ruse to direct attention elsewhere, while the true target was assaulted — the State Department secret vault on the moon of Kamala.”

  Gesul had not known, Lisbeth reflected. Aristan and the Domesh had worked to make this mission happen, but had not known where it would take them. Lisbeth had no idea precisely what Phoenix was after — she’d been kidnapped on Stoya III before she could find out. But whatever it was, Aristan had been determined that Phoenix would share its bounty with him and the Domesh. Which raised a question.

  “Where is Aristan?” Lisbeth asked. “I have not heard a whisper of him since I was brought here. It’s like he’s not even present.”

  “Lisbeth Debogande is perceptive,” said Gesul. “Aristan is leading the Domesh effort with Phoenix.”

  Lisbeth stared. “In person?”

  “Parren leaders are required to have many capabilities. Aristan was a great warrior in his time. Those capabilities now serve us all. Do you know why?”

  A test, Lisbeth thought. She took a deep breath
, gazing past the thin lattice, that only blocked enough of the courtyard view to create the impression of shade. Many trapezoid temples rose, now beginning to swim with the heat haze of mid-morning. Soon the pavings would be free of Kunadeen residents, and only the hardy outside visitors, or the circling birds, would venture the expanse.

  “Because he seeks information,” she concluded, drawing several trains of thought into a single idea. “Information that may require him to make profound decisions. It’s the reason starship captains must also be pilots — if a lower-ranked pilot has to make an immediate decision to risk the ship or not, then he is the captain.” It made more sense as she said it, gelling with things Erik had told her about his job, and she continued with growing confidence. “Aristan must have thought that what he would find would lead to profound decisions about the direction of the Domesh. Phoenix is too far away to send for instructions here. Whoever was on the scene, making those decisions, would be the leader of the Domesh, in function if not in name. It had to be him.”

  “Perceptive indeed. These are treacherous times, Lisbeth Debogande. There are many enemies arranged against the Domesh. Most of House Harmony does not wish to see us attain leadership of this house. None of the other four houses wish to see the Domesh leading House Harmony. I fear that we may face all parren, united against us.”

  Lisbeth glanced in surprise. It was impossible to tell if Gesul was troubled, past the hood and the synthetic replication of the translator. But they were the words of a troubled man, gazing at the scene of what for a Domesh must have been the most profound thing imaginable. The Kunadeen, the seat of power for all House Harmony, and all its denominations. The parliament that ruled the one-fifth of all parren who currently transited through this phase of the parren mind. Lately, most of those newly-fluxed had been coming to the Domesh. Surely all these other temples, and the other denominations residing within, were coming to resent that fact, and fear it. Likely one of them had sent the assassin to her bedroom, to sabotage the Domesh attempt to gain currency from Phoenix’s mission, whatever it was. If she died, Phoenix would owe the Domesh nothing.