Only Human (8 page)

They all agreed, although the thought would
not pass their lips in fear of Tharron's spies, that the rebel leader was
obsessed with a fairy tale.

Since hearing the legend Tharron had passed
but one order: Capture alive a person that would confirm the story. Not a
difficult order until one considered that the only person that could answer Tharron's
burning questions would have to be Delphian.

There were no Delphians among Tharron's
men. His warriors were Rhuwacs, his pilots were traitor Centauri. His agents,
spies and advisors were Terran, Feydan and a very few K'lar. His household
staff were Shaddallam slaves. Delphians were barely cooperating with the Union
and would certainly never consider Tharron's employ.

Tharron had fumed for weeks, taking out his
ill temper on his servants and advisors alike. It had proven impossible to
capture a live Delphian in combat. During the skirmish on Aram, one fighter
plane had been taken but her pilot had turned out to be Centauri. At last, in
order to appease Tharron, a detail had set out for Delphi. Pe Khoja had simply
landed in a rural area and captured a farmer alone in his field.

Tharron's men were confident that this
prisoner would answer to Tharron. Their leader would finally realize that the
legend was, after all, just a legend. This madness would end and Tharron would
return to the business of reaping great profit from war-torn Trans-Targon.

There were a few among his staff, so very
few, who did not share the others' disbelief in the story. Pe Khoja, the
Caspian, was one, Tamotsu Comori, the Terran, another. It was they who had
decided to abduct the hapless farmer, not because of the truth he would tell
but because someone like him would not
know
the truth.

So today, all hoped, their troubles would
be over. Self-satisfied, Tharron's men stood in a loose semi-circle around
their leader who sat expectantly on a raised bench as if on a dais, the focus
of everyone's attention. As always, he wore a long, simply-cut robe reminiscent
of those worn by his nomad kinsmen on K'lar but made of far more luxurious
fabrics. Massive arms were adorned with broad bands of precious metals. His
hairless head was painted with intricate designs calling upon the gods of his
people. In a fine mood, he had ordered everyone outside and the prisoner
brought to him there.

A good day, Tharron thought, letting his
eyes roam about the garden. The old man and his family that he had evicted from
their stately home had created a lovely oasis of eternal spring deep within the
jungle of Shaddallam’s lowlands. Outside the high garden walls he could hear
his men, a comforting sound. The entire town had been evicted to make room for
them. Shaddallam was an ideal planet on which to establish headquarters. It
could be months before the Union's scouts found them here.

By that time, Tharron suspected, a change
of climate would not be objectionable. The trouble with his Rhuwacs was that
they tended to foul their own nests, murdering, vandalizing and destroying
until they started to turn on themselves. Then it would be time to pack them
all up again into huge freighters and ship them to another place. Like restless
children, Tharron thought indulgently, whining and squabbling until allowed to
go play.

He chuckled to himself, rubbing his large
hands together. "Bring me the Delphi!" he roared.

Two silent Rhuwacs approached, shoving
before them the prisoner. Tharron grinned when he saw that someone had taken a
knife to the blue hair and hacked a long tress from it. To a Delphian, the
height of humiliation. Bound at the wrists, the prisoner stood before Tharron,
his expression closed to him.

The K'lar leader observed the man with some
surprise, having expected a cowering and bedraggled petitioner for mercy. This
specimen, however, stood before the most despised rebel in all of Trans-Targon
without a trace of fear, his arrogance blazing. He had been handled by the
Rhuwacs, his long vest was torn and he bled from a fresh cut on lips already
swollen from previous blows. Still, the blue eyes shone with defiance.

Tharron shifted uncomfortably. He motioned
to his guard to force the Delphian to kneel before him. It made little
difference. Kneeling, the man still seemed to tower over them all. Tharron
hated Delphi and all that prospered on her lush soil.

"Do you know who I am?" he said
in a low voice.

"Yes." The Delphian did not give
him the satisfaction of reciting his titles and deeds.

Tharron's hands balled into angry fists. He
had been warned that these people were able to feign an outer calmness through
a trance of inner meditation. He curbed an urge to smash that tranquil face.
"Do you know why you're here?"

"No."

"I have asked you here, my friend, to
tell me a story." Tharron leaned forward, his hands gripping the chair's
armrests. "Tell me what truth there is to what you call the Tughan Wai."

The Delphian recoiled as if slapped. Tharron's
men nodded to each other, confident that all would be revealed as a children's
tale. I was almost embarrassing that Tharron would go to these lengths to hear
it. But then, this Delphian would not live to tell others about their leader's gullibility.

"Well?" Tharron prompted.

A small smile played over their captive's
cold lips. "It is a legend."

"I have heard that it's a
legend!" Tharron snapped. "And I don't believe it for one minute.
Talk or you will die. I will hand you to my guards for amusement!"

The Delphian glanced at the Rhuwacs. Some
of them sneered, showing their teeth. "The Tughan..." he began
haltingly, as if afraid to pronounce the name. “The great Tughan Wai is the
protector of all Delphi. He will guard our people against the evil wrought by
you and that which the Union brings. His powers will shake the mountains and
boil the seas..." he faltered.

Tharron had propped his chin into his palm
and his other hand tapped idly on his armrest, bored. When the Delphian had
interrupted his tale, Tharron bent close to him. "Boy, I believe that I
told you that I know the legend. I am not interested in your borrowed
prophecies and doomsday-crying. You see," he leaned back and stretched out
his arms to encompass his entourage, "we would all like to know the real
story." He turned to his men. "Would we not?"

Those assembled nodded half-heartedly. Real
story? Comori directed a nervous glance at Pe Khoja. Pe Khoja shrugged but, as
usual, did not look particularly concerned.

Tharron faced the Delphian again.
"Talk."

"He will destroy your armies and fling
your ships from the sky–"

Tharron struck the Delphian with a force
that would have killed a lesser man. He snapped his fingers.
"Comori!"

The small man, heavily robed despite the
midday heat, hurried forward. His movements were quick and the Delphian,
stunned by Tharron's blow, was slow to react. The doctor's instrument forced a
pale liquid into his veins, heating his body from within, at once dulling his
mind.

Tharron smirked. "Nothing like a
bottle of wine to loosen your tongue, eh? Except, perhaps, for a little
something from Mr. Comori." His harsh laughter chased what remained of
peacefulness and tranquility from the garden.

The others waited, some apprehensively, for
the drug take effect. Not even Comori knew how his truth serum would affect a
Delphian.

"Now, Delphi, hear me," Tharron
said companionably. "Talk or die, it's up to you. Tell me of the Tughan Wai."

"Of course," the Delphian said,
his unfocused eyes seeing into the middle-distance. "As you know we
Delphians have certain capacities within our minds that never developed in your
own races. We have limited telepathic abilities, as you call them, and we can
attain several distinct levels of consciousness and awareness. Most of you
differentiate only between the conscious and the subconscious. Waking and
sleeping."

"Get on with it."

"Yes. There is among us a sect called
the Shantirate, something for which I, too, am being trained. My initiation was
only two years ago."

Pe Khoja heard a groan escape the Terran
doctor beside him. He winced at the grim justice of having taken a country
bumpkin only to have him turn out to be a god-cursed Shantir acolyte! Karma, my
dear Mr. Comori, he thought. He turned his attention back to the prisoner.

"Shantirs are those that have attained
a deep understanding of how we may use our minds. They are our physicians,
healing without surgery or medication. The mind cannot only heal itself but also
the body that supports it. The Shantir are at once our doctors, our seers and
our religious leaders. It is all very complex–"

"How does this affect the Tughan?"

"The Tughan Wai is an experiment. Many
generations ago, the Union Commonwealth was a threat to us. As we saw it take
hold of the part of our galaxy which you call Trans-Targon, we needed a way to
defend ourselves. Traditionally, we do not bear arms. The Shantirs set out to
create the Tughan Wai." The Delphian halted his monotonous narrative. An
uncertain expression stole over his face.

"Comori?" Tharron murmured.

"He'll go on," the little
physician said.

"Continue, boy," Tharron prodded.

"The Tughan is a person. It is also a
weapon. We do not make guns and warplanes but the Shantirs can direct a mind to
suit their purposes. Shortly after birth, a young mind can be influenced
through a procedure called a
khamal
. Behavioral patterns can be created
by the more powerful mind of a trained Shantir. I, too, was thus influenced at
birth; my destiny was dictated to me. I will be a Shantir. Moreover, I
want
to be a Shantir. You are fortunate to have captured me, only the Shantir guild
knows of the Creation. Others know only of the legend, which, of course, is
nonsense."

"What did they do to the Tughan?"

"The Tughan Wai was their ultimate
ambition. Many experiments failed, killing each candidate. There was too much
power, too much knowledge..."

"Go on, what is the purpose of the Tughan?"

"Er, the Tughan is...The purpose of
the Tughan is to destroy...things, people. Thought energy channeled in ways I
do not yet understand. Terrible power...planets burning... Worlds
exploding..."

"We're losing him," Comori
warned.

"Worlds exploding!" Tharron
scoffed. "Keep talking, Delphi, and skip over that apocalyptic nonsense.
This is the last polite warning you'll get from me."

"But the children died," the man
continued. "They died from the collective powers given to them by the
Shantirs. Some went mad. Then it was discovered that such powers could remain
hidden, lying dormant until the young mind reaches maturity and has been
trained. New experiments showed some promise..." The Delphian closed his
eyes tiredly.

"Give him another shot," Tharron
ordered.

Comori shook his head. "It would not
be effective. We can try again later. This drug was not designed for a
Delphian."

Tharron stood up, looming over his captive.
"Did they complete the experiment?"

"There were some successes." The
Delphian's voice seemed strained, far away. "But more out of curiosity
than any real need. Our leader, Phera, then ordered the Shantirate to stop
their experiments. The Union is no threat to Delphi. It protects us against
you..." the man's body convulsed and the muscles of his face clenched to
keep his lips from speaking.

"But they didn’t stop, did they? Does
he live?" Tharron roared. "Does the Tughan exist?"

"...the Tughan lives."

"Does the Union have him? Do they plan
to use him? How can I find him?"

"Sire," Comori warned.

The Delphian farmer tensed his entire body,
his mind frantic in its efforts to overcome the drug and remain silent.
"No Tughan for Tharron!"

Tharron lifted the youth to his feet,
shaking him roughly in his insane desire to know the name of the man chosen to
be the Tughan Wai. "Who is he?"

The Delphian hung weakly in Tharron's
grasp. A whisper escaped him. In the tense silence, everyone heard the name he
revealed. The name of the Delphian who would bring the entire Union
Commonwealth to its knees before Tharron!

Tharron dropped the limp body, satisfied.
"Bring him around. Feed him. I want him on his feet quickly." He
paced, grumbling. "I need to know where this Tughan is. Can he be bought?
I'll need one of those Shantirs to deal with him. I need..." He turned to
the doctor now kneeling beside the prisoner. "I need him on his feet! I
have a thousand questions!"

Comori looked up from his examination of
the youth. "The Delphian is dead, sire."

Tharron was speechless. His first urge was
to tear the physician to pieces. Had the man been anyone but Tamotsu Comori, he
would have done just that.

"Dead?" he said finally, his
voice hoarse. "How could you have made such an error?"

"This drug does not kill, Sire. This
Delphian killed himself."

A startled murmur grew among the men
present. Those more cowardly and those more experienced with Tharron's ire
began to move toward the building, out of the immediate range of this wrath.