Only Human (25 page)

But he had his principles. As a rebel, he
had funds and planes to travel where others could not go, see what others could
not see. But he would remain a rebel because he would not, could not switch
sides.

The one thing he truly hated was a traitor.
A traitor like Jelani. A quick stab in the back with a poison needle was too
good for that one.

Besides the battlefield on Bellac, this was
likely the vilest-smelling place Nova had ever encountered. The stench
permeated every part of the town that they had so far explored. Shad Lengh
carved out a meager existence for itself in the tanning of hides into fine
leathers that were then traded into parts of the planet that could afford to
live without the stink of the factories. Nova herself owned several fine
leather garments that originated in this vile pit. The thin veil now obscuring
her face did nothing to keep the smell out of her nose.

Nova threaded her way past long, low-roofed
buildings that seemed to be no more than heaps of stones held together by mud
or dung. Here and there stood a tent made of hides and, rarely, a wooden shack
or two. Well-trodden, winding pathways connected the buildings. Although she
had seen a skimmer in the distance, there was no room between the buildings for
driving such a vehicle unless one parked above, jumped down onto a roof and
slid from there to the ground.

She had tried to converse with some of the
natives she encountered but it seemed that only children were about and every
time she hailed one, it quickly disappeared among the buildings. It was some
time before the pathways widened and she emerged into an open area. In the
center stood yet another stone building, this one at least four times as large,
if not as high, as the others.

Nova turned toward it, recognizing it as
some sort of communal hall, perhaps even as whatever passed as the local seat
of government. There was no door. She paced around the heap of stone twice
before she realized that she was walking in circles. Confounded, she looked
around the deserted square, wondering if she should find Tychon to help solve
this mystery.

Then she saw a sign attached to one of the
ramshackle wooden buildings on the north side of the plaza. Then another,
further down. There were large windows and merchandise set out for sale.
Happily, she realized that she was able to read the signs. Strangers were not
that uncommon here, after all.

She entered a shop, pleased to note that
here a more appetizing odor prevailed. She walked past rows of bins containing
dried herbs, spices and roots, often needing to duck under items hanging from
the low ceiling. A very short storekeeper resembled the ropes of shriveled
fruit hung from the rafters.

"Man," she addressed him, hoping
that he was, indeed, a male of the species. "You own shop?"

 He studied her with eyes sunk deep in
furrowed skin. "Yes, do you wish to make a purchase?" His command of
the trade language she had chosen was by far better than hers.

"Maybe." She held up a picture of
a tree. The image had been recreated by Targon's technicians from the tape
found on Tor Ag. She and Tychon had spent hours studying every second of the
precious video fragment and had sent frames of it to various labs, careful to
include no information that would alert an eavesdropping enemy. Planets whose
weather conditions matched the images were shortlisted. So were atmospheric
conditions that allowed Kiran to move about without any type of protective
gear. Finally, the toddler in the image was identified as a Shaddallam native,
close to Kiran's own age. An analysis of the vegetation in the image narrowed
things down to Shaddallam's temperate northern hemisphere. Four of the Vanguard
teams were immediately dispatched to begin the search.

"I is botanist. Look for healing tree
like so. Is here on Shaddallam. Where?"

The proprietor reached for the picture with
a multi-jointed arm. He chuckled. "Healing tree? I'd say you have strange
ailments. There is nothing medicinal about that tree."

"Not for you," Nova said.
"Where tree?"

He returned the image to her. "You
won't find that around here. Go north. They grow in the region of Shad
Laika."

"Are cities there? Towns?"

"Certainly they don't grow in
towns!" He laughed. "But, yes, there are a few towns up there."

She nodded and turned away.

"I would not go there," he called
after her. "They don't like Terrans unless you're one of
them
.
Won't care about the difference between a botanist and a soldier."

She stopped at the door. This ancient had a
good eye. "There no Terrans here?"

"Not often in Shad Laika." He
snatched a small bag from a shelf. From a bin on her left he took a handful of
herbs and, after shredding them, added them to the bag. "Take this."

She regarded him suspiciously. His leathery
hand took hers to place the parcel on it. "Mix it with water and drink it
fast. It will turn your skin very red. The people of Bellac Tau are a more
common sight in the north."

"Many rebels here on Shaddallam?"

He nodded. "We have no numbers for
them, but they are gathering in the north."

She tucked the bag into her belt. "Why
you help me?"

He stepped back. "Your reasons for
seeking out our oppressors are your own. But I shall hate to see your quest
untimely ended because of your inept ploy to disguise yourself as a botanist."
His cackle was old-womanish as he retreated to the back of the store.

"Man," Nova called after him.

He poked his head around a stack of crates.

"Why no door on that building? Why all
people hide?"

"Oh, there is a door. But it isn't on
the building. And why do we hide?" He came forward again. "Strangers
come here. Not the odd trader that passes by here from your world beyond the
sun, but strangers who take all and give nothing. They come here sometimes from
Shad Laika. So we hide."

Nova left the shop and hurried across the
square, the smell of rotted meat, sewage and the tanneries again assaulting her
senses. Tychon would be waiting for her at the path leading into the dusty plains
that surrounded Shad Lengh. She walked faster, eager to share her find with
him.

* * *

Tychon was leaning against the wall of a
stable, morosely watching the little people scurry about that maze which they
called a town. No one had wanted to speak to him. It didn't seem to be shyness
that kept them at a distance but a rather profound loathing for strangers.

When he had finally caught a child by the
cowl of its robe he had succeeded only at being soundly cursed; one did not
need to be a linguist to know when one was insulted. The child had not been a
child, but an adult female. No doubt the indignant woman had taken him for one
of Tharron's rebels. He thought it rather admirable that she had neither
cowered in fear nor tried to stab him with some hidden weapon. Tychon berated
himself for not having taken the time to learn something about the natives of
Shaddallam and a few words of their incomprehensible language.

He loosened his stifling burnoose to spit
into the sand. This place lived with the fear of the rebel, he could taste it,
smell it.

He let his attention wander, observing a
group of hunters returning with the day's catch of large desert birds destined
for the tannery. He recognized the creatures as sandrunners, Shaddallam's main
source of clothing, food, transportation and income. At least that much he knew
of this place.

"Tychon," a low voice sounding
like thunder at the end of a storm made the long hair along his spine bristle.
He turned, slowly coming to face the most dreaded of Tharron's officers.

The Caspian was accompanied by only three
others from the same planet. Tychon's initial impulse was to run; the man
before him bore an overwhelming presence that made his few companions seem like
an army. Four guns sighted on him.

He tried an easy smile. "Pe Khoja, as
I'm still standing! I haven't seen you since you got thrown out of Aram."

Pe Khoja ignored the barb. "Didn't
think you'd track us down quite this quickly."

"I'm honored that you would welcome me
personally," Tychon moved away from the wall, cursing their luck. They had
traded planes with Eagle Five before taking the last jump to Shaddallam,
exchanging one nondescript vessel for another. Five had recently been refitted
- surely rebel spies had not yet identified it. Shaddallam received enough
off-world traffic that they would not have raised suspicion by landing here. Yet
it seemed that all traffic arriving on Shaddallam was met with great scrutiny.
Tychon wondered if this was more than just a place to hide Kiran. Could this be
Tharron's main base? His home? "Running short on minions already?"

"You taking out a few Rhuwacs isn't
exactly leaving us short-handed."

Tychon glanced along the now empty path
behind him. Miraculously, everyone seemed to have found some urgent business to
keep them indoors. By now the Eagle would be surrounded by Rhuwacs.

He watched Pe Khoja's fingers play over the
firing mechanism of his gun. The rebel would not even call this an execution.
But what was he waiting for? Everything Tychon knew about this Caspian would
have him on the ground already, of no more significance than any of the
hundreds of other dead Union members that didn’t bother Pe Khoja's conscience.
Yet he hesitated, his hooded eyes studying Tychon as if some scheme was
forming, not quite decided upon, but possibly useful.

"Ty!"

The five men turned at the sound of Nova's
voice. Tychon groaned.

"Ty! There you are. I found– "
Nova stepped from among the houses and froze when the rebel detail came into
her line of sight. Her eyes lit on Pe Khoja's smooth features. Although she had
never met him, she had seen his picture often enough to have it etched into her
mind.

"Captain Whiteside," Pe Khoja
breathed, a slow grin touching his lips. He, too, had seen her likeness many
times. He had always envisioned a formidable she-warrior of size and strength
to match her Delphian mate and the stories that were told of them. Tharron
would not be pleased that his hated adversary had turned out to be no more than
a slip of a girl, tall, slender and, he had to admit, quite beautiful for a
Terran.

Tychon thought that he had caught an expression
of hatred for her, and all that she stood for, pass over the rebel's face.

Nova's hand flashed to her gun. Before her
weapon was drawn a single beam of light cut across the space between her and
one of Pe Khoja's men. Her body shook in a brief spasm and then crumpled into
the dust.

"Nova!" Tychon rushed to her.

Pe Khoja whirled and struck the marksman
hard enough to throw him off his feet. "Idiot!"

The rebel raised his hands to ward off any
further blows. "Our orders are to shoot her on sight!" His visions of
reward and praise faded at the sight of Pe Khoja's angry visage.

The leader watched Tychon sit on his heels
beside the still figure. "Take her along," Pe Khoja snapped.
"She'll come around."

Tychon looked back over his shoulder, his
hand still touching her neck. "She's dead."

Pe Khoja motioned to another of his guards
to confirm Tychon's words. The rebel dropped to one knee beside her, feeling
for signs of life. Tychon closed his eyes.

"So she is." The soldier used his
clawed foot to turn Nova over. "Looks like we finally got her."

Pe Khoja studied Tychon's pale and stunned
expression. "I think Tharron might have a few questions for you, Delphi.
Let's take your plane. Eagle Class, isn't it? I've admired them for some time
now." He looked back to Nova's inert figure, then at Tychon. "Leave
her here," he said to his men. "Perhaps they'll make use of her in
the tanneries."

One of the rebels unclipped Nova's weapons
belt and pulled it roughly from under her, then unfastened her wrist band. He
studied it appreciatively. "This set is worth more than what you got for
your sister, Jhov."

The Caspians' rough laughter accompanied
them as Tychon was led away, disarmed, a gun stabbing his ribs on either side.
He did not look back at Nova. His head ached.

* * *

Since the invitation to take a seat among
the ten leaders of the Union, Baroch had had to resign himself to the constant
and watchful presence of others at closer quarters, even as he slept. Even
during precious time spent with his wife and their two children, even in his
quiet moments lost in study or absorbed in khamal, Union agents maintained a
vigil over him. He had grown accustomed to the intrusion but would never come
to like it.

To remain impartial, Baroch had made his
home on Feyd rather than on his native Delphi. In spite of the relentless heat
it was a good place to build a home, not as harsh and fast-paced as Targon and
not as remote and dull as Pelion or Myra.

The house itself was large, rambling into
several directions with deep, open verandas designed to catch every breeze. It
did not have an office. On this one thing Baroch had insisted. Any business
conducted on Feyd was handled in one of several comfortable sitting rooms, more
often than not in the presence of his wife and over a tray of Feydan
delicacies. If formality was required, the dining room converted into a
soundproof, bugproof meeting room.