Kinsman's Oath Read online

  Ronan realized at once that he had slipped and must be more careful. "Yes, Captain," he said. "Some memories have begun to return."

  "Excellent." She leaned back in her seat and addressed the crew. "We have much to learn from Ronan, and he is eager to learn from all of us."

  Ronan caught the gazes of the other officers, including Lizbet. She ducked her head and blushed as a shaaurin might flatten her ears. "I also wish to learn," he said.

  Movement from the far side of the mess caught his eye. Janek took his seat in the empty place beside the captain.

  "Apologies for my tardiness, Captain D'Accorso," he said. A server brought him a meal, and he picked at it while he cast glances at Ronan. "Have I missed an interesting discussion?"

  "Obviously not as interesting as whatever kept you from the captain's table," Kord said. His voice bared his teeth, as the shaauri saying went. "You might have missed your seat if Scholar-Commander Adumbe had been able to attend."

  "Because our honored guest is in mine?" Janek said, downing his beverage in one draft. "In that case I'd have to take, your place, Ser O'Deira. Or do you wish to duel for it?"

  Ronan half rose. Kord grabbed his elbow.

  "Patience, Brother." Abruptly he stood, drawing the attention of all the crew with his silence.

  "I gladly surrender my place," Kord said in a deep, carrying voice, "to my brother Ronan." He held up his hand and drew an exquisite ornamental knife from some hidden pocket in his shipsuit. With its blade he slashed his palm and let the blood drip into the glass of clear water beside his plate. He lifted the glass and offered it to Ronan.

  Ritual. Ronan recognized it for what it was, and what it must mean to the young warrior. Kord offered the comradeship of human ve'laik'i, a binding made not of birth in House or Line but of choice.

  Ronan knew what he did when he lifted the glass and drank the water. He held Kord's gaze, took the knife, and slashed his own palm. Kord tasted his blood, raised both glasses, and tossed them over his shoulder.

  "It is done," he said. He cleaned the knife with a cloth and tucked it back inside his shipsuit.

  "Bravo," Janek said, clapping. "Deeply moving, indeed."

  "My enemies are his, and his mine," Kord said, taking his seat. "Remember that, Persephonean."

  "Gentlefolk," Cynara said, "We've had enough drama in the past few days to last until the Opal Tides run black as space. Peace at this table."

  "Peace at this table," Cargomaster Basterra muttered.

  "Peace," Kord echoed. He leaned toward Ronan and tilted his chin toward Janek. "Watch your back with that one, Brother. He already rides the sword's edge with his insolence to the Little Mother, but she has forbidden me to challenge him. He will try to bring you down."

  "Because he fears my intentions toward the Concordat."

  "Many Persephoneans hate Kinsmen and their kind, even those who remained with the Concordat. He sees you as Kinsman, whether you are one or not. I believe that he wants this ship for himself, and hopes that by taking you aboard, Cynara endangers her captaincy."

  "Does she?"

  "She does not answer to Janek, or even the Archon of Persephone. The Pegasus belongs to the Alliance."

  "And the Pegasus is important."

  "It is not my place to speak of it. The captain will explain when she judges the time right."

  Ronan relaxed in his seat as if the topic held no interest for him. "As you say."

  The slight tension went out of Kord's posture. "You desire the captain," he said.

  The unexpected question upset Ronan's facade of indifference. He sat up. "I do not understand you."

  Kord chuckled. "Come, my friend. You must know she favors you."

  "She has done me honor."

  "She favors you, man. Are you sand-blind?"

  Ronan did not misunderstand. On the shuttle, before he had remembered the truth about himself, Cynara had reached into his mind for the first time. That touch had not triggered his memory as had the encounter on Bifrost. Only later, lying in the infirmary, had he realized what she had discovered.

  Pieces of his childhood, yes, and faces of those shaauri who had befriended or tormented him. But she had also witnessed his encounters with the Kinswomen who had come at Kalevi behest to serve his needs. She had felt what he felt then, the full measure of his lust and hunger for companionship.

  And she had not turned away in disgust. It had been as if she lay with him in his bed in Ain'Kalevi, as if her body accepted his caresses.

  The second mental joining on Bifrost had been brief and deep like a spear-thrust, piercing his carefully constructed defenses and withdrawing just as swiftly. He had been too close to death to fully comprehend it. But it had forged a new bond between them, just as her kiss had awakened his body.

  That bond was his advantage and his potential undoing. Cynara did not know how well he recognized her desire for him. She rejected such weakness in herself, but it was so obvious that even her closest ve'laik'in—her friend—perceived it.

  Because of Cynara, Ronan had access to everything he had forgotten—had been made to forget—before he had come aboard the Pegasus. He had subdued young Bhruic and made himself invisible to the crew even before he had any understanding of how or why he did so.

  Kinsmen had imposed that loss of memory, as they had built the many shields that guarded his mind. It must have served some objective in his mission. Perhaps the false recollections of his past had been designed to convince the humans that he was exactly what he claimed and believed himself to be, the fugitive who hated all shaauri.

  Surely his trainers had not expected him to regain his true memory so quickly. They had prepared him for the possibility of sexual liaison as a means of gathering information, but they had not reckoned on one such as Cynara D'Accorso.

  He had been sexually drawn to her at first meeting, ignorant of the source of that compulsion. The subliminal drive to accomplish his assignment lay at the heart of all he felt, all he did. In the act of mating, minds were most vulnerable to intrusion.

  He had regained memory, but his purpose had not altered. He must guard the changes in himself from everyone, Cynara most of all. As long as she was vulnerable to her desire for him, he would have opportunities to enter her mind as she had his.

  "It does not trouble you," he said to Kord, "that the captain favors me?"

  'The Little Mother is my sworn lady. Her enemies are mine. One who swears brotherhood to me serves her as I would." His brown eyes held Ronan's. "As you will."

  Ronan pretended interest in his piece of fish and glanced down the length of the table. Many of the crew members were finishing their meals and returning to duty, or gathering in small groups to talk. Ronan thought of his own cabin, Cynara's only a few doors down the corridor. His body demanded more rest, but there was a higher priority.

  "I'm on the bridge for the next watch," Cynara said. "We'll talk later, Ronan. In the meantime, you have the run of all decks except the bridge."

  Ronan stood to face her. "I may move freely, Aho'Va?"

  "Everywhere but the restricted areas. You'll recognize those by the red and yellow striping on the bulkhead and doors."

  He remembered. Such forbidden places were the very ones he must penetrate.

  "Perhaps when Kord is off watch, he'll take you on a tour," she said. "Remember Doctor Zheng's instructions, both of you." She nodded farewell and strode toward the mess door.

  Kord followed Ronan's gaze. "Don't mistake her ease of manner for weakness," he said. " 'They are most dangerous who keep the blade sheathed.'"

  Ronan smiled without humor. "Among shaauri it is said, " 'Who can know the mind of Will?'"

  Or the mind of a traitor.

  Ronan wandered the upper decks for several hours, casually bypassing the forbidden areas as if they held no interest for him. He observed the movements of men and women, noted how few held sidearms or seemed prepared to fight. He counted crew in each sector of the ship from mess to cargo hold. Though h
e could only guess at crew numbers in the engineering and life support sections, he estimated that three-quarters of the ship's complement had been present in the mess.

  Forty crew in all, a reasonable number for a ship of this size. Minimal security. Half of them would be on watch at any given moment.

  After his first sweep, Ronan made a second at a more leisurely pace. The humans he encountered were, at worst, guarded, and at best seemed to welcome his presence. Most were curious about him and willing to discuss some element of their occupations, though none was foolish enough to offer essential details. Ronan shared minor anecdotes of shaauri life and left them satisfied that he was more to be pitied than feared.

  When he passed the striped doors that led to engineering, he slowed his pace and smiled at the uniformed guards. These men were separate from the crew, in clothing and mien; they were true warriors, like Kord. Ronan took the risk of skimming their surface thoughts.

  They knew very little of what lay beyond these doors, of the special engine that enabled the Pegasus to outrun shaauri strikers. They did not even have the means to unlock the doors, but they did know who among the crew had such access.

  Beyond that Ronan dared not press. He sensed shields within their minds like those Cynara had spoken of possessing, and it was not yet time to test them.

  He nodded to the guards and retraced his steps to crew quarters and his own small cabin. At the last minute he altered course for the captain's rooms.

  Her door was unlocked. Not a matter of carelessness, not on this ship, but a deliberate gesture of trust. She would hardly keep material pertaining to the Pegasus's secrets in her personal lodgings.

  The door slid open at the lightest touch of Ronan's palm. Cynara's scent, and one other he didn't recognize, swept over him.

  Though twice as large as his own, her quarters were nearly as spare. Yet the chamber was not entirely without personal decoration. The bunk's coverlet was woven in bright patterns of greens and blues, sea-tones, designed to look like waves. On the bedtable stood a holo, depicting five humans on a sandy beach: an older female, her upper face obscured by a weighted cloth; a mature male in colorful attire; two younger men; and a girl.

  The girl was Cynara. Her bright hair escaped the scarf laid haphazardly upon it, and she looked ready to burst into a run. The ankle-length, slit skirt over her close-fitting trousers would not have impeded her for long. Only the adults behind her held her in check.

  One of the young men bore a strong resemblance to Cynara: kin, perhaps a genetic brother. The other young man was also similar in appearance, though his hair was gold rather than red.

  Ronan found additional objects that he guessed were from other human worlds: a dagger similar to the one Kord kept tucked in his shipsuit; a black, pitted rock; an elaborately coiled shell. Ronan remembered a trick Sihvaaro had taught him the one time they had gone to the sea. He picked up the shell and held its mouth to his ear. The ocean was contained inside it—an ocean within the ocean of space.

  Someone spoke. Ronan jumped, unable to locate the intruder until a motion near the deck caught his attention.

  The creature was not at all like a shaaurin on four legs, though Ronan had heard it said that humans sometimes regarded shaauri as large bipedal cats. This beast was very small, compact, dark-furred, and flat-skulled. It possessed a long, sleek tail. Its fingers were too short to grasp or manipulate.

  Even so, there was enough of a resemblance that Ronan stood very still and let it approach. It was not afraid, though it lifted its head and smelled the air in the manner of any reasonable being.

  The cat took another step and abruptly sat on its hindquarters to lick its forepaw. This was, indeed, a sort of Reckoning, a test of Ronan's intentions and an announcement of its own lack of fear.

  Ronan crouched closer to its level and displayed his fists palms-up. "Good hunting, sh'eivalin," he said.

  The beast yawned wide, showing sharp Carnivore's teeth. Once shaauri had been strict carnivores and hunters, before they learned the Way of Paths and began to till the soil. Now the most traditional shaauri sought to restore the ancestral features by filing their teeth to sharp points. This creature had no need of such artifice.

  "You are Cynara's… pet," he said, tasting the human word. Shaauri rarely kept animals in captivity for companionship or amusement. The cat responded by strolling up to his hands and nudging its muzzle against his fingers.

  "Ah. You wish to be groomed." Ronan raked his fingers through the animal's fur, taking liberties he had dared with only a few shaauri. The cat rolled over on its back and squirmed its forequarters from side to side.

  Ronan examined its belly. There were rows of teats for suckling, but no pouch. It, like humans, must expose its young immediately after birth.

  "Are you alone on this ship, Little Sharp-Teeth? Do you miss others of your kind?"

  "Cats don't speak," a voice said from the doorway. "At least not in the way we understand it."

  He sprang to his feet, prepared for her rightful anger at his intrusion. She cocked her head with a look more puzzled than hostile.

  "I've always understood that shaauri were highly territorial," she said. "It seems strange that one raised among them would invade someone else's."

  Ronan ducked his head. "You are right, Aho'Va. I have trespassed."

  "No apology?"

  "You have die advantage. You may strike."

  She laughed and instantly sobered again. "That's the second time you've said something to that effect. Your shaauri seem to be forever on the edge of violence."

  "Only when provoked." He met her gaze. "One who enters OutLine territory uninvited must expect attack."

  "As we humans expect attack whenever we try to carry out honest trade." Instead of bidding him leave, she sealed the door and crouched beside her pet. "Have you satisfied your curiosity, or is there something else I can show you?"

  Almost as soon as she spoke, her skin flushed pink. It made her seem very young.

  "You've already met Archie… Archimedes," she said. "He's something of the ship's mascot, though he spends most of his time in my quarters." She smiled at Ronan, close enough to breathe the same air he did. "You've never seen a cat before, I take it."

  "Only in a holo. Is it true that humans—that people believe shaauri look like cats?"

  "You don't think there's any similarity? Pointed ears, fur, whiskers, claws, sharp teeth—"

  "Not as sharp as… Archie's." He returned her smile. "And shaauri have no tails. Cats are from your world?"

  "We have cats on Dharma, yes, but originally they came from the human homeworld, known as Earth or Terra."

  "Will you tell me of this Terra?"

  She sighed and scooped Archimedes into her arms, rubbing her face against his shoulder fur. "It's a long story. Centuries ago, humans learned how to build ships that could travel the great distances of space, just as shaauri did. The first ships were very slow. Eventually, they became fast enough to leave the solar system and discover the first wormhole. Then humanity was able to expand to many other planets, some habitable and some less hospitable but valuable in other ways. We formed our first planetary alliances.

  "In time, communications broke down among the colonies, and those last settled—the Nine Worlds—were cut off from the original planets of the Concordat. Even Persephone, most prosperous of the colonies, had to struggle for existence. Much of the old technology was lost. We refer to this period as the Long Silence. But Persephone recovered and began to reestablish contact with other local worlds. Her scientists rebuilt much of the old technology and a new fleet of ships to travel between wormholes.

  "It was right after this rebirth that humans encountered shaauri, and misunderstandings in culture and language led to the First War. The Shaauriat, as humans named it, formed an immense sphere separating the Concordat from the Nine Worlds, which had fallen into their own dark ages. Though the shaauri did not occupy much of what they considered their territory, they guarded eve
ry last system ferociously."

  "It is their way," Ronan said.

  "So we learned. Fifty years later, Eeva Kane, originally of Dharma, was able to overcome the barriers of communication by entering shaauri minds and interpreting their complex language. Shaauri adopted her into one of their Lines, and she began to gather other telepaths to serve as mediators between aliens and humans."

  "The first Kinsmen," Ronan said.

  "Indeed. As a result of her work, a new peace was negotiated, and the Concordat was able to reach the Nine Worlds. But we on Dharma had lost so much that it took nearly a century before Concordat scientists, technicians, teachers, and diplomats were accepted and able to encourage a gradual change in Dharma's medieval culture." She smiled wryly. "As you'll see, they hadn't completed their task before the Second War and the blockade cut us off. Only a few Concordat personnel, those who married into Dharman families, remained—including my Uncle Jesper."

  "The man you hope will thwart Janek's plans for me."

  She laughed in surprise. "I'd almost forgotten you heard that exchange. Yes, my uncle is more than a match for Janek, and he's also on the Trade Council that determines how we use our limited offworld capabilities, as well as the—" She hesitated, and Ronan detected Pegasus in her thoughts before she shut them away.

  "We've never been sure how the Second War started," she said abruptly, "except that some shaauri were never able to tolerate humans. Many Kinsmen chose defection, which left humanity even more vulnerable." She lifted her hand and let it fall again. "You could be of great value to us, Ronan. You could teach us to understand the shaauri even better than Eeva Kane, so that we can work toward a permanent end to hostilities."

  "I can show how to better evade their ships and patrols."

  "Perhaps. Does that bother you?"

  Ronan held up his hand, displaying the healing slash in his palm. "This is human blood," he said. "The same blood shaauri have spilled again and again."

  'They treated you very badly."

  He turned his face aside, feeling the unwelcome weight of her sympathy. "It is long in the past."