HUNTER OF WORLDS BY C. J. CHERRYH

“Simplest of all to hear me and destroy Priamos. I am of many years and much travel, Chimele. I have seen the treasures of many worlds, and I know the value of life. But Priamos itself is not unique, not the sole repository of this species nor essential to the continuance of human culture. Our reports indicate even the human authorities abandoned it as unworthy of great risk in its defense. Need I remind you how far a conflict between Tashavodh and Ashanome could spread, through how many star systems and at what hazard to our own species and life in general?”

“It is not solely in consideration of life on Priamos that I delay. It is my arastiethe at stake. I have begun a vaikka and I will finish it on my own terms.”

“Your m’melakhia is beyond limit. If your arastiethe can support such ambition, well; and if not, you will perish miserably, and your dynasty will perish with you. Ashanome will become a whisper among the nasuli, a breath, a nothing.”

“I have told you my choice.”

“And I have told you mine. Hail Ashanome. I give you honor now. When next we meet, it may well be otherwise.”

“Hail Mijanothe,” said Chimele, and sank into her chair as the projection flicked out.

For a moment she remained so. Then with a steady voice she contacted Raxomeqh.

“Transmission to Weissmouth base two,” she directed, and the paredre of the lesser ship in Weissmouth came into being about her. Ashakh greeted her with a polite nod.

“Chaikhe is landing,” said Chimele, “but I forbid you to wait to meet her or to seek any contact with her.”

“Am I to know the reason?”

“In this matter, no. What is Aiela’s status?”

“Indeterminate. The amaut are searching street by street with considerable commotion. I have awaited your orders in this matter.”

“Arm yourself, locate Aiela, and go to him. Follow his advice.”

“Indeed,” Ashakh looked offended, as well he might. His arastiethe had grown troublesome in its intensity in the nasul: it had suffered considerably in her service already. She chose not to react to his recalcitrance now and his expression became instead bewildered.

“For this there is clear reason,” she told him. “Aiela’s thinking will not be predictable to an iduve, and yet there is chanokhia in that person. In what things honor permits, seek and follow this kameth’s advice.”

“I have never failed you in an order, Chimele-Orithain, even at disadvantage. But I protest Chaikhe’s being—”

She ignored him. “Can you sense whether Khasif or Mejakh is alive?”

“Regarding Mejakh, I—feel otherwise. Regarding Khasif, I think so; but I sense also a great wrongness. I am annoyed that I cannot be more specific. Something is amiss, either with Tejef or with Khasif. I cannot be sure with them.”

“They are both violent men. Their takkhenes is always perturbing. It will be strange to think of Mejakh as dead. She was always a great force in the nasul.”

“Have you regret?”

“No,” said Chimele. “But for Khasif, great regret. Hail Ashakh. May your eye be keen and your mind ours.”

“Hail Chimele. May the nasul live.”

He had given her, she knew as the projection went out, the salutation of one who might not return. A kameth would think it ill-omened. The iduve were not fatalists.

CHAPTER 11

ISANDE CAME AWAKE slowly, aware of aching limbs and the general disorientation caused by drugs in her system. Upon reflex she felt for Aiela, and knew at once that she did not lie upon the concrete at the port. She was concerned to know if she had all her limbs, for it had been a terrible explosion.

Isande. Aiela’s thoughts burst into hers with an outpouring of joy. Pain came, cold, darkness, and the chill of earth, but above all relief. He read her confusion and fired multilevel into her mind that she must be aboard Tejef’s ship, and that amaut treachery and human help had put her there. A shell had exploded near them. He was whole. Was she? And the others?

Under Aiela’s barrage of questions and information she brought her blurred vision to focus and acknowledged that indeed she did seem to be aboard a ship. Khasif and Mejakh—she did not know. No. Mejakh—dead, dead—a nightmare memory, of the inside of an aircraft, Mejakh’s corpse a torn and bloody thing, the explosion nearest her.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *