The Empire: Book Six of Seeds of a Fallen Empire Read online

The Empire

  By

  Anne Spackman

  Copyright © 2014 by Anne Spackman

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art by Boris Rasin

  Chapter One

  Nerena Zadúmchov entered the world boldly—so said her father, the Grand Marshall Zadúmchov, interpreting the hearty cries of his newborn daughter. He was pleased when she was born, and she soon became the apple of his eye.

  The world Nerena had been born into, namely the planet Seynorynael, was the center of the Federation of Planets, ruled by the Seynorynaelian Council of Elders.

  Nerena was a stubborn, independent girl who was born into a society that was rigid and technologically advanced enough to grow almost all children ectogenetically—only the elite, of which Nerena’s family belonged, still had to right to have natural children not grown in an ectogenesis womb. Nerena was a natural birth.

  If only Nerena had understood the manner in which she had entered the world, the baby Nerena would have known that her voice would never reach beyond the narrow walls of the lush and beautiful family estate. She would have known that the world turned a deaf ear to the powerless. For as rich and powerful as her father was, Nerena herself was powerless. And her fate had already been decided—mostly by her own father. Nerena would be her father’s pawn, wed to another wealthy and powerful family’s son. The Grand Marshall had plans for his daughter to be his political tool, perhaps used to placate some political rival by a promise of being connected to the renowned and powerful Zadúmchov family.

  Yet who was this General Zadúmchov, the Grand Marshall?

  General Zadúmchov was indeed powerful. He held two titles, in addition to his rank of General in the Martial Scientific Force, that of the Grand Marshall also the title of “the Coordinator of the Expansion”. This meant he had orchestrated the incorporation of several Federation planets and continued to manage the expansion of Seynorynael’s Federation being, as it were, the Seynorynaelian Council’s chief right arm in the Martial Scientific Force. Zadúmchov was a renowned political and wartime leader for the Federation of Planets. Zadúmchov reported only to the Federation Council, which was mostly guided by the Seynorynaelian Council, and to Elder Markankeil, head of the Federation Council and de-facto ruler of the planet Seynorynael and its Federation.

  Elder Marankeil was a man of great mystery, who was much revered, yet also feared. Though, in actuality, he was no longer a living man.

  Elder Marankeil had become a mechanized creature called a mechanized unit, which was an immortal robot with the former memories of a living man programmed into its memory bank. Marankeil had, in many ways, taken over the government with his best friend, Ornenkai, who was also a mechanized being called a mechanized unit and on the Federation Council. Marankeil and Ornenkai were the two most prestigious and influential members of the Seynorynaelian Council, and the larger body of the Federation Council. They ruled the many worlds under their dominion, but were still only Elders in name.

  In practice, they had the entire galaxy in their thrall.

  One afternoon, while still a young girl, Nerena was walking along the beach in Firien City, and she pointing to the water’s edge, for she had seen the grey and white kiri birds eating scraps. Nerena cried,

  “Look, mother!” Accompanied by great shouts and much laughter, Nerena ran ahead to scare the small sea birds, who shrieked loudly and climbed swiftly into the air.

  “Nerena, please, dear, try not to make a scene.” Was all her mother Nalya Zadúmchov said before making a gesture to a servant robot to go and collect Nerena and bring the child under control once more.

  Nalya Valeria Zadúmchov, Nerena’s mother, had come from that kind of family that had been making society news before there was an expanded Federation, when there had been but the five-star ring of planets in the Seynorynaelian Federation of Planets. Nalya came from the Tyriessus family that had been a dynasty for more than three thousand years, that had once earned its prestige in service to the Marankeil family back in the first years of the mechanized Elder’s restructuring of the government.

  Nalya was beautiful, with a heart-shaped face that ended in a slightly pointed chin. Her manners were impeccable, and her demeanor was patrician, gentle, though she had a childish streak in her and could be petty.

  Marankeil and his Elder Council had ruled the planet Seynorynael and its Federation now for thousands of years, and with their rise in power and prestige, certain families had also risen to prominence, including the Tyriessus family, of which Nalya had been a part.

  “Ah, my sweet Dariel,” Nalya had often proclaimed in happy tones, whenever news arrived that her eldest elder brother was coming to visit. “He was my mother’s joy, you know. A kind and conscientious brother. I so love to see him.” Nalya had just received word that her brother Dariel was going to visit again soon.

  Nalya and her two elder brothers had been raised in the capital city of Ariyalsynai and in the family manor in foothills of the Kerrauchian mountains. Nalya had been trained in politics but was never expected to pursue a political career. At a tender age she had been brought to the city for a year of rigorous society training before her introduction to the elite; at her introductory ball she had first met the Grand Marshall, Zadúmchov. She could remember it well.

  “My daughter, Grand Marshall Zadúmchov,” Nolan Tyriessus had introduced Nalya to him. Nalya had been young and beautiful, refined, well-read, and well-mannered.

  Zadúmchov was older than her, formerly married and a widower, with an elder son nearly grown and off in training somewhere in one of the city’s rigorous and prestigious education centers.

  “A vision,” said Zadúmchov, looking long at Nalya and taking her hand. “Would you care to dance, my lovely one?”

  “She would love to,” Nolan had said, and he had moved smoothly aside in order for them to dance.

  Nalya had taken the General’s arm and had gone willingly, at first entranced by the power of Zadúmchov.

  Zadúmchov was noble-looking in a manner reminiscent of cordan statues, with quick dark eyes and a rugged face, broad manly shoulders and hirsute, callused hands; he did not smile. And of course, everyone knew that the Grand Marshall bore the hereditary Zadúmchov title of “the Coordinator of the Expansion”, an official duty bestowed upon the family for more than two thousand years by the mechanized Elder Marankeil.

  “I have seen your manor house, once, when you were but a child,” said Zadúmchov to Nalya as they danced.

  This surprised her.

  “Your father and I were acquaintances at school together.”

  “Ah,” said Nalya, uncertain of what else to say to him.

  Zadúmchov smiled at her, and she was won over, entirely, by his admiring glance and hard, shining eyes.

  The Zadúmchov family was one of the oldest and most famous of Ariyalsynai, and only the most capable children of the line were chosen and trained for the position of the entire Federation’s coordinator, that person who regulated the inclusion of new territories and petitions thereto from as far away as the nineteenth galaxy of the Great Cluster; the position necessitated significant relations with the council of mechanized Elders. Thus the Zadúmchovs bore the only acceptable working position in all of the Ariyalsynai elite that was neither entirely military or political. Incidentally, however, the Grand Marshall was also a general in the Martial Scientific Force.

  “Your feet are feather light, young lady.” Said the Grand Marshall. “Your father has had you taught well. I have known him a long time, but am glad to have now met you, young lady.�
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  “It is my pleasure.” Nalya had said, and had meant it at the time.

  When she was younger, Nalya’s heart had seemed involuntarily moved to admiration and adoration. And so she had really believed herself in love with the Grand Marshall when she became attached to him, which happened not long after Nalya’s introductory ball.

  However in time, as Nalya woke to the reality of her new life, long after the glamour of her passion for Zadúmchov had faded, she became like any woman disappointed in love.

  Nalya soon came to understand that her husband didn’t love her, that she was attached to a man who would never love her, or any woman, half so much as his work; and so her heart grew bitter and became empty. And she began to see her life as something that was meaningless, and that there was no hope or love left in her future. She had nothing to live for, except to live for its own sake.

  “Darling.” She had once called Zadúmchov. No longer.

  Marshall Zadúmchov, an irascible man of keen judgment, had accepted his duty years before he ever knew what duty really entailed. He had been born the only child of the previous Great Coordinator, with several younger cousins waiting in the wings to assume his position if he could not pass muster in the eyes of the council of Elders as being worthy of the title. Zadúmchov had spent his life obeying orders under duress, attending the appropriate schools, fulfilling all that was expected of him, fulfilling his duty.

  “I gave you a home, what more can you want or need?” he was fond of saying to Nalya whenever she made a sign that she was unhappy.

  The greatest fortune of Zadúmchov’s life was that he had actually been born with the desire to fulfill the role he had been born to play. He worked towards assuming the title from his father with a kind of ambition that kept anything from touching his senses that was not a part of his future responsibility. At the same time, Zadúmchov had been aware of his duty to produce scions to assume his place, and that ectogenesis was not a socially acceptable alternative for the most elite of the hierarchy. Thus he had chosen his first wife from a prestigious family who lived outside of Kilkor, thinking to bring her share of her family’s land to his own family and to augment his own power and prestige.

  Some time later Zadúmchov had learned that he had made a faux pas; first, he had been expected to marry from the political ring of Ariyalsynai. It also bothered him that his wife was not his equal in refinement or taste; she was his equal in land, title, and assets only. He attributed this lack of refinement to a want in training and her provincial upbringing and spent little time in her company.

  His first wife had born him a son in the years that followed, a bright, fleet-footed boy that he fought hard to control. Some time later, his first wife had died of an incurable illness related to the premature radiation disease; Zadúmchov had determined after a while that he would become attached again, but this time he would find his wife from among the strongest political clans of the capital.

  “She will be easy to govern,” he had thought when he met Nalya. “And she is from the Tyressius family.”

  Zadúmchov found the young Nalya terribly naive; she was slim, docile, and extraordinarily beautiful, with a light, airy, cheerful disposition. He did not love her, though he admired her mental and physical qualities; he wanted to love her and felt a duty to try to make her feel some sense of happiness in order to keep the family morale high, but he couldn’t seem to muster enough emotion to care for her. She was so little like him, with her mindless, cheerful moods and her odd, irrational habits.

  By the time she knew she was pregnant, Nalya hadn’t wanted the child, but she was afraid to seek the drug she needed to kill her unborn child, afraid that somehow someone would find out. She was not worried for Zadúmchov’s feelings, but the reputation of her own family.

  Nalya’s small vein of pride was all that she possessed which still had value to her. She knew the child was a girl before it was born; she felt that Zadúmchov was certain to want a boy. She threw this at him later, hoping he would reject the child so that she would be free to love it.

  He was extraordinarily pleased, not out of any parental love for it, but that at last he would have an heir for his title.

  “I wish I could have gotten rid of it.” Nalya had said in a small, hard voice when he told her how he felt about it. “I don’t want this child. I shouldn’t have let myself be dissuaded from destroying it by worrying about what society would think of me.”

  "Nonsense,” her husband had returned, completely disregarding her words. “All women have a mothering instinct."

  Nalya had laughed, a hollow laugh, a laugh that felt the absurdity of his comment; did he think she didn’t know herself?

  "You'd like to believe that," Nalya had told him. But, he had ignored her. “I should have destroyed this child. After all, your son left because he couldn’t bear to have you as a father.” She had said, fashioning her words to punish him, but then she realized they could do him no harm, because he did not respect her, because he didn’t value what she said and never would.

  “My son left because he is a fool.” The Grand Marshall had replied, and said nothing else.

  Nerena was born, and that was the end of the ongoing argument. After the birth of Nerena, Nalya and the Grand Marshall seldom ever exchanged a word.

  For some reason, the Grand Marshall grew to love his daughter. At first merely his heir, later he came to treasure the child he felt had been wrongfully abandoned by its petulant, puerile young mother. Zadúmchov felt a strong protective bond for the infant Nerena, and his heart was inclined to cherish her as the one who would ensure the honor of his family name.

  Nalya for her part wished her husband hadn’t loved the child Nerena. In truth, she resented her daughter; she hated her daughter, because her daughter was a symbol that she was forever physically linked to this man who had become her husband; it was a horror to her to contemplate that a part of her had fused with the essence of this man, and that this fusion lived, breathed, and walked around in the form of their child. How could the child function, she wondered, being composed of such a polarity of two natures?

  Of course, Nerena was ignorant to all of this. She was raised by a succession of tutors and nannies who professed to love her but departed with frightening regularity and were never heard from again; her father spent free afternoons instructing her, though he would not deign to childish nonsense and games.

  “My clever girl.” Zadúmchov would say to Nerena, for he valued Nerena’s mind from the beginning, and he bolstered her courage. Later, he came to realize that she was in fact quick-minded with no small pleasure. From that moment on, Zadúmchov came to expect great things from his daughter one day; he loved her, chastised and scolded her, but rewarded her efforts enough to keep her motivation high, and in no short time, Nerena’s existence revolved around pleasing her father.

  Nerena wondered if her father knew how great it was, this power he wielded over her. Did her father know the kind of psychological power every father holds over his children, especially over his daughters? For the world expects the sons of a man to rebel from his authority, but the daughters must always obey.

  When she was old enough, Nerena realized that though her father loved her, perhaps because she was an extension of himself, this love was not truly respect. Her father didn’t respect her; and so, in due course, his respect became the one thing in the world she wanted above anything else. His respect was the one thing she would have done anything to earn, and it became the focus of her life. It was through her father’s denying her this respect that she became willingly submissive; to offend, insult, or disappoint him would have forever eradicated the possibility of obtaining his approval.

  Nerena never stopped to wonder if his judgment was more valid than her own.

  As a young lady, Nerena came to know her mother didn’t love her. She knew it, and it hurt.

  Neren
a knew also that her mother had an insensate soul, a soul inured to the feelings of others. Whether this had always been the case or not, she didn’t know, but it was certainly true now.

  Even before Nerena’s grand introduction to the elite society of Seynorynael as an adult, Nalya showed no maternal affection in preparing her child for the eyes of the world and left the duty of preparing and arranging Nerena’s attire to Zadúmchov, who chose a Martial Scientific Force outfit for Nerena that singled her out among the entire company; Nerena felt out of her element as soon as she appeared at her own introductory ball.

  “Please don’t make me wear it,” she remembered thinking when she saw the military outfit her father had chosen for her. Why not a dress? All of the other women would be wearing a dress to her “Introduction to Society” party. But she would do anything to please her father, including wearing a horrible uniform.

  The party and those which followed meant that Nerena was obliged to mingle among the dull coquettes of the elite circle, eager and pious young women who had nothing valuable to say and whom Nerena had long despised. She had never imagined when she was young that the world was dull or that no one wanted to do anything, at least not what she saw might be possible with her lofty expectations of all that was possible in the greater world, this shining epicenter of the Federation that was Ariyalsynai, capital of the planet Seynorynael. Couldn’t they go to other worlds and enact great laws or fight great battles against the Federation’s enemies, the insurrectionist groups that appeared every now and again?

  It seemed no one in the elite but Nerena wanted to do or admired any of these things. What they liked to do was to attend parties, and talk about them.

  Nerena dutifully attended the successive parties held by the elite with her father, where she was to be introduced as the future “Great Coordinator”, or more likely the mother of the next Great Coordinator, if Zadúmchov held his position throughout his lifetime, which was a more popular subject of debate than anything the Grand Marshall had done.

  As for being a mother, Nerena didn’t much care for that idea; unlike most women, she disliked infants in general but adored children. She seldom saw much beauty in the tiny, wrinkled things, but children were complete people to her. Why was it that the elite circle talked about nothing important? she wondered. Nerena came to hate the flashy affairs, the bustle of mindless activity, the talk and gossip before and after such events.

  The parties themselves were always a profound disappointment; Nerena found the people insular and their conversation prosaic. Besides which, Nerena only pretended to know what she was doing. She had not really ever gotten used to the society events, despite her training and upbringing. Most of the women were bedizened in ornate-looking attire that had been created for one day’s amusement; Nerena felt lonelier than she had ever been, but she kept up appearances for reasons beyond her own comprehension.

  At the same time, Nerena begrudged the mediocrity of the world.

  “I don’t understand these summer trips to Firien. There’s nothing to see,” Nalya said, with an air of ennui, after the Grand Marshall mentioned he was planning on taking Nerena again to the Lake Firien Province when the warm season began—soon.

  “I won’t go with you.” Nalya said flatly, and she refused to acquiesce. Nerena sat in disapproval as the Grand Marshall turned back to a discussion with his chief subordinate.

  If her mother was so bored, so dissatisfied with her own life, why didn’t she devise something new for a change? Nerena wondered. Why couldn’t she see the interest in a trip to the remote province of Lake Firien?

  Nerena sat in abeyance, then stared at her mother.

  “Forgive me, mother, but can’t you try to enjoy yourself?” Nerena asked. Nalya sighed and got up without answering, then left.

  Nerena turned to listen to her father’s subordinate droning something about supply routes and trade embargoes, but his words were just details, details—she tried not to hear them. Putem, the subordinate, was the sort of man who knew the commercial value of everything he saw, but never saw its worth.

  This was the first Nerena had heard of the Grand Marshall’s idea to return to Firien for a substantial visit.

  Back to Firien, again, after so long!

  The family had gone to Lake Firien during the warm months for several years. Long ago, Zadúmchov had lived for two years in the small settlement of Firien City to take up a temporary post during the excavations of a nearby ruined vessel of the ancients. This posting had been many long years before Nerena was born. But Zadúmchov had liked Firien City after living there and the province of Lake Firien, and so had been determined to take his young daughter there on summer outings.

  “I’ll be packed by this afternoon,” Nerena thought to herself when she found out they were going to Firien City this year.

  Every year Nerena and her father swam, carried heavy tackle kits up to the bay and sat fishing for hours; Nerena made friends with the local children who played games on the docks, Firien children who didn’t completely understand the significance of the name Zadúmchov. They sat until star’s-rise spinning stories and dancing to music on the warm beach. Nerena played in bare feet on the sand, looking for chisk creatures buried in the sands and came home every day with sand and grit plastered on her legs.

  There were no nannies, no tutors, only her father and herself, and occasionally even Nalya would come in the last few tendays of the summer season to enjoy the end-of-season festival Firien was so famous for. They went into Firien City on transports full of singing people, playing games and instruments of all kinds, some native to Firien, others from as far off as the planet Goeur.

  And the hikes!

  Some days, Zadúmchov even packed up supplies for a day of hiking and hunting; they shot wild ilaia for meat and camped high on the mountains, fending off delochs with fires and soundflares, but Nerena wasn’t afraid as long as her father the General, the Grand Marshall, was there.

  It was wonderful there in Firien. Nerena spent afternoons climbing trees until her legs were scratchy and filthy with damp lyra leaves, climbing trees with the local boys until her mother appeared at the end of the season, proclaimed her a hoyden and put an end to the activity; afterwards, Nerena invited the local girls to their summer dwelling, where they swam and made Bilirian cream cakes, but Nerena snuck out at night to join the boys in skipping stone contests. By the time she was half-grown, Nerena had had her first kiss with a rough-cheeked boy she palled around with every year; everyone called him “Dusty”—he had, however, washed for the occasion.

  Then there was the mysterious man that the gang called “rainbow man” who was reputed to live over by the north shore; Dusty spun eerie tales about him at night over a beach-fire, and they laughed and screamed at any sudden sound and hid under the blanket they had brought. Then they compared foot sizes and read palms, had slapping and staring contests, and went running like hooligans out onto the beach in the middle of the night, with ideas of scouting out the area and finding this mysterious rainbow man. They had never found him, but Nerena came back home scratched up, with leaves and twigs strung through her hair.

  She was convinced there was no such person as the rainbow man.

  For years now, the family had stopped coming to the summer dwelling, when Nerena’s studies and the Grand Marshall’s duties kept them away in the warm season.

  Nerena had since grown up, finished training to one day take over as “Coordinator of the Expansion” and even trained to become a member of the Martial Scientific Force. It was then, that one afternoon, that her father told her and Nalya that he had been called out to Firien on business.

  And, he was thinking of spending the approaching warm season there; he had even managed to procure Nerena a temporary release from duty to study his dealings as the Great Coordinator.

  For the first time in years, she wondered what had happened to Dusty.


 

  "Oh father, look! I can see the Lake from here on the left—see there through the clearing in the trees. How much longer until we get there?" Nerena Zadúmchov leaned forward to get a better view through the transport window.

  "Not long, Nerena." Grand Marshall Zadúmchov laughed at his daughter's effusive zeal.

  Nerena's mother Nalya had as usual been detained in Ariyalsynai, which meant that she had no intention of coming at all, but the Grand Marshall had insisted that she make an appearance at some point during the season. Nalya had agreed merely for appearance’s sake.

  Zadúmchov had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he was surprised to find that the transport had arrived at their usual vacation dwelling.

  "I'm going to take a walk, father," Nerena said and hopped out of the transport as though she couldn't wait to be moving again.

  Nerena had almost decided against coming on the trip to Firien this year, but she didn’t tell her father the real reason she had made up her mind to go. Several months before she had been working late hours on a project and had not returned home until late at night. On her way to the transport shuttle, she thought she saw someone standing in the shadows behind the Research building, his face obscured, watching her.

  Time and again she had felt the presence of someone following her, watching her, always from a distance, always hidden. Once she was sure she had heard footsteps behind her and turned around to confront her second shadow, but there had been no one, only the empty streets between the transports and the sound of a few leaves scratching the walkways, swirling.

  Nerena had decided to leave the capital of Ariyalsynai when the intruder suddenly disappeared. Nerena convinced herself that it must have only been her active imagination, but she had already agreed she would go on the annual trip to Lake Firien. Once committed to the vacation, she surprised herself by just how anxious she was to get there.

  As she walked, Nerena lost herself in listening to the waves on the shore and in the strong sea wind accented by the cries of small kiri birds with here and there a tall, long-legged ceiras bird diving for fish at the water’s edge. Nerena was soon lost in sunburnt memories of golden days long gone. Her long hair lashed about her face, and she pulled strands from her eyes, but her senses were overcome by the wild, uncontrolled majesty of Firien, the most beautiful of the provinces.

  “It’s so lovely out here,” she thought to herself. She felt free in this land beyond the weather-safe ring. The wonders, the hint of danger, with no perfectly controlled safety dome to protect her reminded her that she was alive, that the world held all possibilities.

  Nerena's gaze drifted between the wide sea on her left and the stretch of the lyra tree forest that bordered the lake on her right as she walked along. After a long moment contemplating Dusty and the strange people he said had once lived in Firien's lyra forest, people called “proto-telepaths” whether there was any truth to the rumors about them or not, Nerena looked up again and saw a man in the distance where no one had been a moment before. As Nerena peered ahead, she saw that he was staring at her.

  “Sir?” she called, but no one returned her call.

  Who was he? she wondered, suddenly noticing that this strange man might not be Seynorynaelian.

  No—Dusty had been right!

  The shock set in, but it wouldn’t be shaken off.

  The stranger’s hair would have been silver, like the color reflected in Lake Firien under cloudy skies, if he stood still. When he moved, and he was moving towards her now, she caught a bare reflection of bright color that vacillated from one to another in a hypnotic manner. She found she couldn’t stop being fascinated by it.

  Her heart beat faster as she realized he was coming towards her. What was he? Was he dangerous?

  His movements were easy, fluid. She noticed, numbly, even afraid, perhaps simply because he wasn’t afraid at all.

  These thoughts struck her before she had a chance to prevent them. He was in no way effeminate but she found his movement beautiful, a stunning masculine grace.

  She couldn’t flee, couldn’t move. Besides, he was too close already to escape the meeting; she was so highly conscious of propriety. Now she saw the color of his eyes: like clear blue water, the green light of the trees, the violet of the sunset, the silver-golden glints of the sun. The multi-colors flickered in his eyes hypnotically, preventing her from looking away.

  Hadn’t Dusty said this strange man haunted the lake shore? Hadn’t he been here several years even before her childhood—

  But could it be him? This man looked young.

  "Are you lost?" he asked. She struggled to understand a moment; his words were accented, melodious; he didn’t speak like her, but he didn’t sound like a foreigner.

  "No,” she stuttered. Get away, Nerena—her mind told her.

  She ignored the thought.

  “I'm Nerena," she said, finding her voice. "Forgive me if I've intruded here, but I was enjoying the lake..."

  "The lake belongs to all, Nerena.” The man said. “But my house lies there—in a clearing in the trees." He pointed to the right, at a bend in the lake ahead, to the shore that looked north instead of west. "You’ve walked a good stretch, Nerena, if you came from Firien City.”

  Nerena looked at the sun above and realized she had been walking most of the day. If she did not head back soon, her father would be worried about her.

  "Don’t worry. The transport stop isn’t far from here. I can take you back to the city and have you home well before star's-rise.”

  “I can walk.”

  “Even if you set back now, you won’t make it before late evening. Lake Firien is not quite the wildest lands to the East, but there have been delochs not far from here."

  "Delochs? But—"

  "Yes. They seem to stay clear of the forest, but I wouldn’t feel safe allowing you to take any chance—"

  "Very well, sir. I thank you for your consideration, and I will accept your offer—but only if you would take me as far as the city. I should be able to find my way home from there—"

  She stopped herself, and then she agreed to go with him.

  "Haven't I taught you anything?" Grand Marshall Zadúmchov bellowed. "You can't trust an alien!" And it was clear from his tone that he considered them all inferior.

  “Trust him?” Nerena laughed. “It’s too late for that kind of advice. I’ve already agreed to stay here."

  Zadúmchov’s face seemed to swell with rage.

  "Remind her of her duty, Nalya," Zadúmchov said quietly, controlling his temper.

  "Let me talk to her for a minute alone.” Nalya said woodenly; she had just arrived at the end of the warm season.

  "Only for a minute," Zadúmchov agreed and left the room, in case he allowed his temper to get the better of him.

  Nerena's mother had arrived after two tendays into the warm season, and the family had been living in their vacation dwelling for eleven tendays. They had planned to depart the next tenday before the warm weather season ended, before the cold weather began.

  Nerena had spent most of her time with the man she had once known as rainbow man; he was no longer a mystery to her. They had become companions at first, then she had grown to care for him, and then she had loved him for his kindness. He knew so much about the Federation worlds, and they had spoken of many things throughout the summer.

  How could she tell her parents what made her love this man? He cared nothing for amassing Federal currency, nothing for power, politics, or reputation; he was not greedy but confident in his love for the land; he didn’t let any inanimate thing of the tangible world disturb his sense of peace. He seemed to know so much more than she did, even as an alien living in a rural land.

  Something in her told her he was a loner—but he had been willingly caught. Why? As strange as their rapport was to the Grand Marshall and Nalya, Nerena felt
more connected to the rainbow man than anyone in her life, even after so short a time.

  Nalya saw her daughter’s expression and interpreted it easily. This young man Nerena had fallen in love with might otherwise have been suitable for her daughter—she didn’t know him, to be fair, and she cared very little outside what it might mean to the family reputation—no, she amended inwardly, she had even ceased to care about that. But he was an alien, after all, and Zadúmchov still cared. She was irritated at Nerena for putting her in this position—Nerena should have known better.

  “He’s an alien.” Said Nalya in a disapproving tone. “And you know what that means.”

  Nerena said nothing, but she knew.

  For one thing, Zadúmchov was always being sent away to discuss plans to quell the small civil rebellions. Nerena knew that many of the aliens on Seynorynael who had joined the Federation since the explorers had made contact with them had been causing trouble for the Martial Scientific Force.

  Aside from her husband's misgivings, Nalya would allow that only a small percentage of the aliens on Seynorynael were trouble-makers. Many had become respectable citizens. And the Kayrians and Tulorians were practically Seynorynaelian, with the exception of a few of their customs. But there was their social standing to be considered. How could Nerena shame the family by attaching herself to an alien—an unknown vagrant from one of the provinces? The remote, Firien province no less?

  "Now, Nerena, do you know anything about this young man? Has he told you who his people are and where he came from?"

  "I don't know.” Nerena shook her head. “He says he's lived at Firien since the last census."

  "That was nineteen years ago," Nalya liked this less and less.

  "Other than that, I don't know where he’s lived."

  "What is his name?" Nalya asked frankly, but Nerena blushed.

  "Enassa was the name on his collar—so he said. I couldn’t read it.”

  "Is he Kayrian?" Nalya asked optimistically, but Nerena shook her head.

  "No, nor Tulorian. I couldn't say what he is—he doesn't look like any alien I've ever seen before."

  Nalya sighed. "You didn't ask him who his people were? For creator’s sake, Nerena, he could be part Berrachaiyan. Or from Ephor—"

  “He isn’t. Don’t you think with my training I should know what he is? Since I don’t, I hardly think he’s a part of any of the alien conspiracies.”

  “But if he doesn't even trust you enough to tell you about himself—"

  "No, mother, it isn't that at all. I didn’t want to know. It doesn’t matter to me what he is.”

  Nerena had realized something; being famous and one of the elite had never helped her through her life. Nerena had never known before in her adult life if someone liked her for herself or because she was famous or wealthy. She was still lost, still searching for a clue as to what she was doing, and the big answer book hadn’t fallen out of the sky yet.

  The alien man known as Enassa didn’t even know who her family was, and he didn’t care.

  Nevertheless, he had been able to love her and even to respect her. They had spent many evenings talking late into the night, listening to the chisk animals singing softly with the wind. He had lifted a weight off her soul she didn’t know she was carrying. And she felt as though she had finally woken up, woken up and realized that she had been asleep all her life.

  "Of course, you should know that the Grand Marshall will cut you off if you insist upon attaching yourself to this alien.”

  "Then let him," Nerena said soberly, but to Nalya's surprise, she showed no sign of cowing to the threat.

  "It’s your decision," Nalya said, suddenly admiring the integrity in Nerena’s eyes. There was a nobility there that could not be taught. Why had she never seen it before? Social standings could fall or be raised by accident or luck—but Nerena was happy. Wasn’t that more important?

  She felt a vague sensation of feeling for her daughter, but it was too late in this life for her to call it love.

  "What if he should abandon you? What if he knows who you are and only wants to use you or hurt you?"

  "I have faith in him." Nerena protested.

  “Faith is cheap. Suffering endures, my dear.” Nalya said.

  Nerena flinched. “When the warm season ends, I suppose I won’t be able to return with you."

  "Think of your career, Nerena—"

  "I don't care."

  “You could do better,” Nalya summoned the energy for one final attack.

  Nerena just glared at her. She refused to even acknowledge such a comment.

  Nalya’s ice-hard expression began to melt.

  "I can see that nothing I can say is going to change your mind." Nalya shook her head. "But for your sake, I hope your father is wrong and that you are right."

  And then she wondered at the irony; for the first time, Nalya realized she was proud of her daughter.