The Dark Path Page 9

It took her mind off their predicament, and it was probably the best thing. It had all happened so fast—the return of what remained of the Sargasso expedition, Tolliver's sudden death, then the events on the orbital base. She had not really assimilated it all. In one part of her mind, little had changed: She was still commander of Cicero, and still had a crisis to deal with. In another part—the part that crept out late at night when, exhausted, she climbed onto her couch to get some sleep—she knew that it had all changed and that her existence (or freedom, at least) might well depend on the continued indifference of those who had seized control of her command.

  The night after the storm broke, she climbed into the pod, shaking the day's snowfall from the cold-weather suit. She found Ch'k'te not only awake, but working on the evening meal at the pod's autokitchen. She got ready to order him back to bed instead of trying to be up and about so fast, but was so glad of the chance to talk that she set it aside. Ch'k'te is an adult, she thought. He can be the judge of his own fitness.

  Without speaking, he handed her a hot cup of coffee and she accepted it gratefully, stripping off the oversuit and squatting in an empty corner of the pod.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked, sipping.

  "All things considered," Ch'k'te said, gingerly touching his bandaged midsection, "quite good. While I slept, I continued to practice esLiDur'ar. The bones should be knitted; I am hardly prepared to run a marathon, but . . ." He took a sip of the coffee, making a slight noise of pain as he did so.

  "Glad to hear it. Have you been awake long?"

  "I was awoken by the sun." He gestured to the forward screen, set to transparency. It had been overcast all day, slate-gray clouds sifting a fine, powdery snow onto the land below. Now the sun was peeking out in greeting to the departing day, filtering through the tall trees and between the distant peaks of the mountains.

  "I've been hiking around," Jackie said, "checking avenues of approach. We're not out in the open, but I certainly could have chosen a better spot."

  "What are your orders?"

  "I . . . don't know. Cicero Op is in enemy hands, and I have to assume that Cicero Down is as well. I haven't tried to signal anyone, since that would only give away our location." She set the cup down beside her. "With the ship's stores and the batteries fully charged, we can easily keep alive here for two or three months. There are certainly natural resources to extend that further . . .

  "It just doesn't accomplish anything."

  "What would you like to accomplish, se Jackie?"

  "This is my command, Ch'k'te. I cannot sit by and do nothing while . . . aliens control it."

  Ch'k'te tucked his legs under him and let his wings settle like a cloak. "My question remains."

  "Don't you understand, damn it? We're at war, Ch'k'te! Those—things—have control of Cicero! They killed Tolliver—they replaced Noyes—they may have even killed se Sergei . . ."

  "We can do little about that now. There are two of us, and I am not fully healed. We do not have a fleet at our disposal—in fact, we cannot even get into orbit."

  "I can't stand by and do nothing."

  "Well and good. But what can we do?"

  "I—I don't know." Her hands were clenched into fists. "But we must do something."

  Ch'k'te did not respond.

  "And if you don't wish to help me, I'll do it myself." She reached for her cold-weather suit—

  Ch'k'te moved almost too fast for her to see, reaching out and grasping her wrist before she could reach the suit. His grip was strong and it angered her that she was unable to break it.

  The zor was obviously in pain, but he took hold of her shoulder with his other hand and held her firmly, his face inches from hers.

  "No," he said, "you will not. We are an hour from darkness, hundreds of kilometers from civilization, and between snow storms. Were you to undertake any sort of action, you would surely perish."

  "Let go of me," she said, straining against his grip.

  "Forgive me for disobeying," he responded. "I do so not out of disrespect . . . but rather from affection. I—You are important to me, se Jackie. I do not wish to see you transcend the Outer Peace just yet."

  She looked at him then, as if she were seeing him for the first time. She had known Ch'k'te for more than four years and she had always considered him a good officer, someone she could trust. Now, with all of the official relationship stripped away, she seemed to finally accept that he was more than a comrade—that he was a dear friend as well.

  She wasn't sure whether she really would have stalked off into the twilight alone, but it probably didn't matter. Tentatively she reached out her free arm and encircled his waist, careful not to touch the bandages. He released her other arm and it followed. She felt his arms, and then his wings, encircle her.

  She looked up at his face and noticed tears streaming from his eyes. She hadn't realized that zor wept, but somehow it did not surprise her.

  "I don't know what to say," she said after a long time.

  Ch'k'te did not reply, but instead began to gently stroke her shoulders with his wings. It was comforting, though not arousing—the pheromones were all wrong. She was sure that it represented a significant lowering of barriers for the zor, who had never expressed emotions to her. The "touch" taboo between humans and zor was prominent, and for Ch'k'te to break it was a powerful indication of his true feelings.

  After what seemed a long time he let her go. The light out side was gray, tinged with pale orange. She let go carefully and sat back. "Coffee's cold," she said, picking up her cup and emptying it into the recycle system.

  "se Jackie," he said, as if trying it out. "Jackie. A name full of inner harmony. I . . . am unsure of protocol here. Have I just made a commitment of some kind?"

  "No . . . no, Ch'k'te. It seems you had made your commitment quite a while ago, I just didn't realize it."

  "I . . . do not understand. I meant to ask whether some mating custom was violated."

  "Mating—" She turned and looked at him, smiling. "Oh . . . I see what you're asking. No, not at all. I . . . have no mate."

  "If I offended you in any way—"

  "No!" Her voice betrayed alarm. She took a deep breath and added in a more level voice, "No, by no means. I have no mate by choice."

  "I do not mean to pry."

  "Oh, for Christ's sake—" She reached out and took one of his taloned hands. "My dear friend Ch'k'te. You are the most self-effacing person, zor or human, I have ever met. We seem to be in each other's debt for our lives. Who can tell if we'll even be alive tomorrow to speak of it?"

  She released his hand and moved over to the autokitchen. Trying to keep her hands from visibly trembling, she dialed a fresh cup of coffee. "They have—They used to have a nick name for me at Cicero Down. They used to call me 'the Iron Maiden.' "

  Ch'k'te nodded, indicating that he understood the reference. "Not really very complimentary and hardly accurate."

  She took a sip of the coffee, winced and put it down on the deck beside her. "I had a lover when I commanded a starship, years ago: Dan McReynolds. He was my chief engineer. It was a relationship of convenience, though it didn't feel like it at the time . . . When he had the opportunity for his own command, he chose to go, and I didn't choose to stop him."

  She turned away from Ch'k'te and looked out at the slowly darkening sky. "Neither of us was willing to put a relationship ahead of a career. I suppose it's like they used to say—I'm married to the Navy." She ran a finger through her hair. "It's probably too late to do anything about that."

  "Why do you not seek another mate? Are you afraid the same thing might happen again?"

  She turned on him, reddening. " 'Afraid'?" she snapped. "I'm not—" Then she stopped, realizing that it had been meant as an observation rather than a criticism.

  Psychoanalysis from an alien, she thought. Well, at least he's objective.

  "Perhaps I am. But it doesn't really matter now, does it?"

  "I do not understand. Why sho
uld it no longer matter?"

  "We're trapped here. You said so yourself: If we were to try anything, we'd most likely die."

  "I beg your pardon, se Jackie," Ch'k'te replied. "That is not precisely what I said. I pointed out that were you to attempt something alone, in the dark, that you would most likely perish. I did not mean to imply that all action would be useless."

  "You have something in mind."

  Ch'k'te flexed his left hand, allowing the talons to extrude from their sheaths and then retract, as if he were trying them out. "We still seek to communicate the nature of this emergency, which requires getting off-planet. We have only one way to do so: at Cicero Down.

  "We clearly must go there first. Of course, there are certain inherent problems with this plan, not the least of which is the few hundred kilometers of terrain we must cross in order to reach it."

  "In midwinter."

  "Acknowledged." Ch'k'te looked at the deck and then back at Jackie. "There is an even more important reason for us to reach Cicero Down."

  "Another—"

  "The gyaryu. It is at the base; I have felt it during my contemplations."

  "The gyaryu? se Sergei's sword? Does that mean that he is there also? Alive?"

  "Truly, se Jackie, there is no way of knowing. I am inclined to believe that he is alive; I would be surprised if the aliens would simply kill him. But since they are powerful Sensitives . . . worse than Sensitives . . . it is imperative that the blade itself not remain in their possession."

  "We should've tried on Cicero Op—"

  "Eight thousand pardons, se Jackie. It was not a mistake to have escaped the station without him. We left se Sergei—"

  "We abandoned him! If we'd stayed—"

  "Please consider. If we had remained, the . . . beings would have captured us as well. I believed at the time that se Sergei could have withstood their attacks with the gyaryu."

  "And he couldn't."

  "Apparently not. But the sword is still on-planet."

  "I'm guessing that if they realize its importance, they'll probably be guarding it closely." Thoughts chased themselves through her head . . . How would they even find it, much less take it away from aliens capable of mind control?

  "I am certain they realize its importance." Ch'k'te shuddered, as if a chill wind had blown into the cabin. "It is critical that we regain it. If the Gyaryu'har is dead, we must return it to the High Nest."

  "Why is it so important?"

  "That is difficult to explain. It is a . . . focus, of sorts, for the Inner Peace. To let it be misused by these beings would be a deadly insult to the People as a whole and to esLi as well. It would do great harm." His talons clenched and then flexed. His wing-position changed. "It must not be."

  Jackie could read him well enough to see he was resolved to do this, even if she ordered otherwise. For all that Ch'k'te was an Imperial naval officer, he was a warrior of the People first.

  It struck her as peculiar that he seemed indifferent to the idea the old man might be dead—but that obtaining the blade was vital. Perhaps it was because they would not be able to undo se Sergei's death. Regaining the gyaryu was possible though unlikely.

  There was more to this than what Ch'k'te had already de scribed, but it didn't seem to be forthcoming.

  "When will you be ready to travel?"

  "Tomorrow or possibly the day after. My efforts at esLiDur'ar have been successful thus far, but they are as yet in complete." He carefully touched his bandaged midsection. "We cannot wait too long, however, or our chances of penetrating the base will be reduced to zero."

  "What do you believe them to be now?"

  "Minimal," he replied at once. "But that does not mean we should not try."

  ***

  The day was painted in brilliant white and deep blue, with boundaries etched in stark relief. The featureless plain was a tableau of stark beauty unmarred by the work of man. It could have been a scene from the distant past.

  Jackie was reassured by the presence of Ch'k'te, silently sliding to and fro as they skied across the plain. The brilliant orange sun beat down upon them from a cloudless sky, but it gave little warmth. A steady piercing wind whipped up eddies and whirlpools of snow, and while her cold-weather suit effectively retained body heat, she felt chilled by despair.

  It was difficult to accept the notion of being on the outside looking in—her sudden transformation to fugitive status had not set well. Once she accustomed herself to the steady exercise it was easy to let her military training take over, giving her more time to think, since she no longer had to consider the movements of her body. Her mind turned almost of its own accord to thinking about the past.

  As she moved along, she had a sudden moment of perception in which she felt the instance of the present as the result of all that had gone before, as if it were the logical outcome of every event that had preceded it. It was unnerving to think this was what her life had led to.

  She had never been one for speculation on what might have been. She considered it to be an exercise for complainers, those more willing to bemoan their fate rather than to do something about it. Still, she could not help it now, as she reviewed the recent events almost against her will. She thought again about Dan aboard the Torrance, years ago, and what they had shared, and why they both had given it up . . . When her officers tried to pry behind the facade of "the Iron Maiden" she always claimed she didn't even remember his name, but Dan would always be hard to forget. There had been a time when he had meant everything to her . . . Well, not exactly, she reminded herself. The career came first for me, too.

  Of course he had accepted his own command when it was offered. She had realized that her own career was more important than their relationship as well. She had let him go and hadn't stood in the way or protested.

  She cursed aloud, bringing herself back to the present. Ch'k'te broke his stride and let himself slow to a stop and she pulled up alongside.

  "Is something wrong?" he asked.

  "Just thinking about the past." Her breath formed in an icy cloud in front of her. "How are you feeling?"

  "Surviving." Ch'k'te touched his chest. "I find myself cursing my own stupidity from time to time."

  "Stupidity?"

  "For having accepted a posting on the Plain of Despite." He waved his hand around. "This is hardly my climate of choice. An elder cousin in the High Nest convinced me that it was a posting with great honor; otherwise I am sure I would have chosen another."

  "It's not my favorite climate, either. This is much colder than Zor'a, then?"

  "Zor'a?" He paused, as if confused for a moment, then nodded. "Ah. I see. Yes, it is much colder than Zor'a. Actually," he continued after a moment, "my thoughts were directed toward S'rchne'e, my homeworld."

  "Tell me about it."

  "It is truly beautiful." He looked around them, as if performing a sort of mental comparison. "I believe that the word 'paradise' would not be inappropriate. My ehnAr—'clan' is the closest word—settled there just seventy Standard years ago, and the Nest is fine and new."

  "I thought that all of the Nests were centuries old."

  "Not at all." Ch'k'te looked away, out across the plains of ice. "You seem to have forgotten your history, se Jackie. esHu'ur destroyed S'rchne'e—every settlement, every L'le, every one of the People on the world—during the war of esHu'ur. Every Nest on S'rchne'e is new."

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence. "If I touched a sore spot, I apologize," she said at last.

  "You did not offend." He looked back at her, his shoulders and wings hunching in some unknown position within his cold-weather suit. "What was done was esHu'ur's right to do as an agent of esLi. Just as for the People as a whole, he gave S'rchne'e a new beginning and a new direction."

  "By destroying everything and everyone? Male and female, adult and Nestling?"

  "I do not understand what you would have me say. The deed is done. Every one of the People who defied esHu'ur has long since transcended the Ou
ter Peace."

  "You don't bear a grudge?"

  Ch'k'te fixed her with a glance. "Should I?"

  "If someone vaporized Dieron, I think I'd bear some resentment."

  "se Jackie, if someone vaporized Dieron eighty-five Standard years ago you would never have been born. As for the deaths of Nestlings and warriors of the People I never met, would my anger or resentment bring them back to life?"

  "No, but—"

  "No indeed." Ch'k'te's shoulders shrugged inside his suit again. "What is more, it is a matter of historical fact that esHu'ur had to do this—at S'rchne'e and a number of other worlds as well—in order to accomplish the task at hand.

  "I thought that you, as a warrior, would understand this."

  They began to move again.

  "I still don't see—"

  "That is unfortunate. But like most humans, se Jackie, you do not understand it from our point of view, ha'i Marais did, and we revere him for it; yet his own race cast him aside and made him a villain. That is extremely mysterious to me."

  "Mass murder does not sit well with us."

  Ch'k'te pulled up short and turned completely to face her. "Consider this, if you will. Aliens of unknown power and capability, but with clearly hostile intent, control Cicero Operations and Cicero Down. These aliens were responsible for numerous deaths at Sargasso and likely numerous deaths here. If you had it in your power at this moment to gather these aliens and those who willingly serve them into one place and destroy them with weaponry, would you not do so?"

  "Yes, but that's not the same thing at all."

  "Eight thousand pardons, se Jackie, but I completely disagree. You are mistaking the magnitude of the deed for the deed itself—as if a great act of violence is intrinsically more unethical than a small one. Or perhaps you would suggest that killing unknown aliens is somehow more palatable than killing known ones.

  "Or, perhaps, you suggest that it might have been proper for ha'i Marais to make a distinction between combatants and non-combatants that the People themselves did not make.

  "As a whole, humans seem to have an extremely bad understanding of the purpose and practice of war. That may be why you fight so many of them."