Treason (2 page)

I looked over to where he glanced and saw the Turd, as we children of Daddy’s first wife less-than-affectionately called Number Two, who had moved up into my mother’s position when she died of a strange and sudden heart attack. Father didn’t think it was strange and sudden, but I did. The Turd’s official name was Ruva; she was from Schmidt and had been part of a package deal that included an alliance, two forts, and about three million acres. She was only supposed to be a concubine, but chance and Father’s inexplicable passion had moved her up in the world. We were compelled by custom, law, and Father’s wrath to call her
mother
.

“Hello, Mother,” I said coldly. She only smiled her sweet, gentle, murderous smile.

Father didn’t waste time with gentleness or sympathy. “Homarnoch tells me that you’re a radical regenerative.”

“I’ll kill anyone who tries to put me in the pens,” I said. “Even you.”

“Someday I’ll take your treasonous statements seriously, boy, and have you strangled. But you can remove that fear, at least. I’d never put one of my own sons in the pens, even if he’s a rad.”

“It’s been done before,” I pointed out. “I’ve studied a little Family history.”

“Then you’ll know what’s happening now. Come in, Dinte,” Father said, and I turned to see my little brother walking in. It was then that I lost control for the first time.

I shouted: “You’re going to let that half-assed moron ruin Mueller, you bastard, when you know I’m the only one who can hope to hold this flimsy empire together when you’ve had the courtesy to die! I hope you live long enough to see it all crumble!” Later I would remember those words bitterly, but how could I have known at the time that this hot-hearted curse would someday come true?

Father leaped to his feet and strode around his table to where I stood. I expected a blow, and braced for it. Instead he put his hands at my throat and I felt a sickening momentary fear that he was at last going to carry out his threat to strangle me. Then he ripped open my tunic, put his hands on my breasts, and pushed them together brutally. I gasped in pain and pulled away.

“You’re weak now, Lanik!” he shouted. “You’re soft and womanly, and no man of Mueller would follow you anywhere!”

“Except to bed,” Dinte added lewdly. Father turned and slapped his ear.

When he turned away I covered my chest with my arms like a virgin girl and spun around, coming face to face with the Turd. She was still smiling, and I watched her eyes move from my face down to my bosom—

Not
my
breasts! I cried out silently. Not mine, not a part of me, and I felt an overwhelming desire to retreat, to back out of my body completely, let it stay
there
while I went elsewhere, still a man, still an heir with the expectation of power, still a man, still myself.

“Put on a cloak,” Father ordered.

“Yes, my lord Ensel,” I murmured, and instead of fading from my body I covered it, and felt the rough fabric of the cloak harsh against my tender nipples. I stood there and watched as Father went through the ritual of declaring me a bastard and my brother Dinte the heir. My brother looked tall and blond and strong and clever, though I knew better than anyone that his cleverness was merely a tendency to be sly; his strength was not equaled by any quickness or skill. When the ceremony was over, Dinte sat naturally in the chair that had for so many years been mine.

I stood before them then, and Father commanded me to swear allegiance to my younger brother.

“I would rather die,” I said.

“That’s the choice,” Father said, and Dinte smiled.

I swore eternal allegiance to Dinte Mueller, heir to the Mueller Family holdings, which included the Mueller estate and the lands my father had conquered: Cramer, Helper, Wizer, and the island of Huntington. I made the pledge because Dinte so obviously wanted me to refuse and die. Now, with me alive, he would have to worry constantly; I wondered idly how many guards he would post around his bed tonight.

But I knew I wouldn’t try to kill him. Removing Dinte wouldn’t put me in his place; it would only mean a savage dispute over the succession—or worse: Ruva might be allowed to spawn some hideous offspring with half my father’s genes in it to take his place. No matter what, a rad like me could never hope to govern in Mueller. Besides, rads rarely lived into their thirties, and it was illegal for them—no, for me—to interbreed with ubermen. I felt a sudden pang as I realized what this would do to poor Saranna. The women would take the child out of her now, and destroy it. She would find herself now the former concubine of a monster instead of the potential first wife of the father of the Family. On the day the women chose me to be her breeding-partner she had set her foot on the road of glory; now the road was crumbling under her feet. Not just my future was destroyed, but hers also.

“Do I see the thoughts of a strangler in your eyes, Lanik?” Father asked. He thought I was still thinking about Dinte.

“Never, Father,” I assured him.

“Poison, then. Or deep water. I think my heir is not safe with you here in Mueller.”

I glared at him. “Dinte’s worst enemy is himself. He needs no help from me to end in disaster.”

“I’ve read Family history, too,” Father said. “Every Mueller who was too sentimental to send his radical regenerative offspring to the pens regretted it soon after.”

“Then have me killed with dignity, Father.” It was as close as I would come to pleading. Yet silently I begged him: Don’t let them feed and harvest me, reaping limbs and organs from me the way wool is sheared from a lamb, or milk pulled down from a cow, or silk spun out of a spider.

“I’m too affectionate,” said Father. “I don’t want to kill you. So I’m sending you on an embassy, a long one and far away, so that I have a reasonable hope of keeping Dinte alive.”

“I’m not afraid of
him
,” Dinte said scornfully.

“Then you
are
a fool,” Father said sharply. “Teats or no teats, Lanik is more than a match for you, boy, and I won’t trust you with my empire until you show me that you’re at least half as clever as your brother.”

Dinte was silent then, but I knew that my father had written my death sentence in Dinte’s mind. Deliberately? I hoped not. But it occurred to me that Father might have decided that the best test for Dinte’s fitness to rule was seeing how well he managed my murder.

“An embassy to what nation?” I asked.

“Nkumai,” he answered.

“A kingdom of tree-dwelling savage blacks far to the east,” I said, remembering my geography lessons. “Why should we send emissaries to animals?”

“Not animals,” Father said. “They’ve lately been using steel swords in battle. They conquered Drew two years ago. Allison is falling easily while we’re talking here.”

I felt my anger rise to think of tree-dwelling blacks conquering the proud stonecarvers of Drew or the backwater religious folk of Allison. Hadn’t we just conquered Cramer, and taught them the true place of blacks in the world by enslaving them? “Why are we sending embassies instead of armies?” I asked angrily.

“Am I a fool?” Father asked in return. “If I wanted mindless bigotry I could call a moot and listen to the nobility.”

I found it at once encouraging and painful that he expected me to think like the Mueller and not like some common soldier who had no responsibility. So I answered him truly now. “If they have hard metal, it means that they’ve found something that the Offworld will buy. We don’t know how much metal they have; we don’t know what they’re selling. Therefore my embassy is not to make a treaty, but rather to find out what they have to sell and what the Ambassador is paying for it.”

“Very good,” Father said. “Dinte, you may go.”

“If these are affairs of the kingdom,” Dinte said, “shouldn’t I be here to hear them?”

Father didn’t answer. Dinte got up and left. And then Father waved a hand at the Turd, who also left the room, waggling her hips insolently.

“Lanik,” Father said when we were alone, “Lanik, I wish to God there were something I could do.” His eyes filled with tears and I realized with some surprise that Father cared enough to grieve for me. But not really for me, I thought. For his precious empire, which Dinte could not possibly hold together.

“Lanik, never in the three thousand years of Mueller has there been a mind like yours, in a body like yours, a man truly fit to lead men. And now the body is ruined. Will the mind still serve me? Will the man still love his father?”

“Man? If you saw me on the street you’d want to take me to your bed.”

“Lanik!” he cried out. “Can’t you believe my grief?” He pulled out his golden dagger, raised it high, and jabbed it through his left hand, pinning it to the table. When he pulled out the weapon the blood spouted and pulsed from the wound, and he rubbed the hand across his forehead, covering his face with blood. Then he wept, while the bleeding stopped and scar tissue formed across the wound.

I sat and watched him in the ritual of grief. We were silent except for his heavy breathing until his hand was healed. Then he looked at me from heavy eyes.

“Even if this hadn’t happened,” he said, “I would have sent you to Nkumai. For forty years we’ve been the only ones in the world, the only ones we knew about, who had enough hard metals to make a difference in war. Nkumai is now our only rival, and we know nothing about that Family. You have to go secretly; if they know you’re from Mueller they’ll kill you. Even if you lived they’d be sure you saw nothing of importance.”

I laughed bitterly. “And now I have the perfect disguise. No one would ever believe Mueller would send a woman to do a man’s work.”

There, I said it, gave myself the name that might keep me from ceasing to exist. But I knew that this was just as impossible; Mueller would no more accept a rad as a woman than as a man. Only outside Mueller could I be taken as human. Father might call it an embassy, or even spying, but we both knew that the true name for it was exile.

He smiled back at me. Then his eyes filled with tears again and I wondered if, after all, his love might be for me.

The interview was over and I left.

I saw to arrangements, setting the grooms to tending my horses and shoeing them for the journey; instructing the scullers to preparing packs for my journey; getting the scholars to make me a map. When the work was in motion, I left the castle proper and walked through the covered corridors to the Genetics Laboratories.

The news had spread quickly—all the high-ranking officers avoided me, and only the students were there to open doors and lead me to the place I wanted to see.

The pens were kept brightly lit day and night, and I looked through the high observation window at the bodies endlessly scattered across the soft lawns. Here and there dust rose from the wallows. All the flesh was nude, and I watched as the noon food was spread into the feeders. Some of them looked like any other men. Others had small growths here and there on their bodies, or defects barely noticeable from a distance—three breasts, or two noses, or extra toes and fingers.

And then there were those that were ready for harvest. I watched one creature as it lumbered toward the troughs. Its five legs didn’t move well together, and it flailed its four arms awkwardly, to keep a balance. An extra head dangled uselessly from its back; a second spine curved away from the body like a sucking snake clinging rigidly to its victim.

“Why have they let this one go so long unharvested?” I asked the student who was near me.

“Because of the head,” he said. “Complete heads are very rare, and we didn’t dare interfere with the regeneration until it was complete.”

“Do we get a good price for heads?” I asked.

“I’m not in merchandising,” he answered, which meant that the price was very high indeed.

I looked at the monster as it struggled to bring food to its mouth with unresponsive arms. Could it be Velinisik? I shuddered.

“Are you cold?” asked the student, over-solicitously.

“Very,” I answered. “My curiosity is satisfied. I’ll go now.”

I wondered why I wasn’t even slightly grateful that my exile at least saved me from the pens. Perhaps because I knew that if I were sentenced to live there, supplying extra parts for the Offworld, I would kill myself. As it was I was still this side of suicide, and so had no retreat from the terrible knowledge of my loss.

Saranna met me in the greeting room of the Genetics Laboratories. I couldn’t avoid her.

“I thought I would find you here,” she said, “being morbid.”

I knew she was trying to cheer me up, trying to pretend that all was still well between us. Under the circumstances, such a pretence was grotesque. Rather I wanted her to grieve for me, to speak to me as if I were only a memory of one who was dead, for that’s what I felt then that I was.

I tried to walk past her. She caught my arm, clung to me and wouldn’t let me pull away.

“Do you think it makes any difference to me?” she cried out.

“You’re being indecorous,” I hissed. Several people were looking at the floor in embarrassment, and the servants were already kneeling. “You’re causing us shame.”

“Come with me then,” she said. To avoid causing any more awkwardness for the others in the room I went with her. As we left I could hear the rods being whipped across the servants’ backs because they had seen the highborn acting in a low manner. I felt the blows as if they fell on me.

“How could you do that?” I asked her.

“And how could you stay away from me for all these days?”

“Not that long.”

“Longer! Lanik, do you think I didn’t know? Do you think my love for you was just because you were the Mueller’s heir?”

“What do you plan to do?” I demanded. “Go in there with me? Let yourself be harvested, too?”

She pushed herself away from me, horror in her eyes.

“Next time be luckier,” I said. “Next time love a human being.”

“Lanik!” she cried, and then put her arms around me and pressed her head to my chest. When she leaned against soft breasts instead of hard muscle, she pulled her head away for a moment, then resolutely held to me even tighter.