Voices of Chaos (24 page)

"Single spot," he whispered, and his eyes went wide. Was it possible?

Ynala--an
Asha!
If someone had dared write such a romance! But if things had been different a hundred years ago? It would surely explain his father's fury over the epic!

But Asha aren't... but they can't be!
He drew a deep breath and tried to remember the things Khyriz had said about Asha. Nothing outright, of course--but if there was such a secret, even Khyriz wouldn't have dared simply speak. Not to Zhenu's son.
If he feared I would immediately speak to
my father...
Khyriz was sensible, and careful what he said, when he said it.

Anyone could be a spy, under the right pressure.

He couldn't remember when Khyriz had first said
that
about the ahla-Asha.

That they are sentient, but tampered with.
Only much later had the Prince mentioned the subject again; he'd warned Zhik about the liquid supplements supposedly fed to ahla-Asha for their health.

"I told him," Zhik whispered to himself, "that it was impossible! Who would create a drug to destroy the mind, who would use it?" Khyriz had flatly told him--nobles like his father, with the blessings of Church and Prelate; of course, Khik hadn't believed it. Until... He swallowed. "Until Ah-Naul, and Ulfar being there to be certain the supplement was given to him. Why would my father care if Ah-Naul was healthy? Why would Ulfar?" He suddenly became aware he was speaking aloud, if only to a deserted parking area.

Still, there could be vid and sound capture, even here.
It is known that Khyriz
comes here; his enemies, or those of his father could arrange such devices.

Caution, Zhikna.

It could make him vomit: that even a cold-minded Arekkhi like his father could condone use of such a drug! If it existed. But why would Khyriz lie about it?

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There was an easy test of the matter, of course; Khyriz had recently told him that Ah-Naul was beginning to recover. The reversal was slow but steady.

Zhik could go to him, see him-- talk to him....

The young noble swallowed an evil taste. I
treated him as a pet: a loved pet,
but a dumb beast, capable only of certain learning.... How could I ever dare
face him after that? To see in his eyes...
What--
who
--had Ah-Naul been before the drugs had turned him into a whimpering, cringing beast? Zhik smoothed his cap with care and started toward the boulevard and the designer's outer door.

But just within shade, he checked sharply.
Whimpering...
Ah-Naul had been able to make sound, though not words. He had vocal cords. The Voiceless must also, then. Could they also make sound?

He didn't know; he'd never before now met a Voiceless, even though his father kept hundreds of them in highland Akkherif, and on Mibhor. "You will avoid them, Zhik," he'd ordered often enough. "Such contact disrupts the concentration their feeble minds need for their tasks, and they carry disease that can be transmitted to Arekkhi."

He'd been curious, like any young Arekkhi--but Zhenu's flat order had been enough to keep him well away from them. If there
was
a disease, and he'd caught it....
My father would have murdered me, or let me die.
Zhenu would certainly have made his life miserable enough he'd have wished to die.

Zhik suddenly remembered something else: Fahara had come from his father's lands. Had she brought the Asha with her? But why would Zhenu permit that? And if Asha could infect Arekkhi, why would she be here at all?

Ask Khyriz.
He wondered if he would dare.

It didn't matter anyway; Fahara was here and somehow so was a Voiceless, as a member of her household. A very much indulged and visibly cared-for member. Surely the designer was breaking a handful of rules daily! If Khyriz had made himself her protector? Or Fahara's
and
hers? Nothing made sense!

Except one thing. If Ah-Naul was capable of... of real thought, if he had voice.
You know the one thing is true, the

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other... may be,
he told himself. If Asha were simply Asha, as Arekkhi were only Arekkhi, no separate kinds among them....

He had no answers; he hadn't expected it. I
am not clever enough to sort
through such a complex matter. As my father so often reminds me, I am
merely the weak and worthless son of a strong lord.

The words, and the obvious insult, had never bothered him before; Zhik had simply accepted them as true. This time, he was shocked by the violent surge of outrage; he suddenly saw everything with painfully sharp vision. His leg muscles burned with the urge to leap, his palms and fingertips cramped--

he would rend, would kill! He caught his breath in a low, rumbling snarl and somehow managed to retreat, stumbling back into the parking shelter, shaking violently, eyes closed. He'd never experienced attack-rage, but there was no mistaking it. It was several long moments before he controlled his emotions enough to defuse the terrifying fury.

Fortunately, the entire area was still deserted; he waited a little longer to be certain the frightening moment had passed, then blotted sweating palms on his nose-cloth. "They will wonder where you have gone for so long," he told himself sternly. "Go back inside. Give the designer the hat." It would serve as an excuse, a confused corner of his mind said; an excuse to return. To see--

but he would not let himself think what he wanted to see.

Zhik hadn't sealed the outer door when he went out and the corridor lights still showed the proper entry to the designer's private patio. But there was another light coming from the wall just into the corridor.
Was that there
before?
He'd been too distracted on his way out to notice, if so. A doorway at this end of the corridor would be one of the wedge-shaped storage areas for the building's tenants, or the pantry--and quarters for the pantrier if he lived in. He glanced at the opening as he moved past it: shelves in a dim light, stacked high with sturdy baskets, another open door on the far side. He stopped, as slightly tinny-sounding music came from the chamber beyond the storage. A cheap audio, perhaps the pantrier's, but the song was for the
eghlida,
one of his favorite dances.
And often, a

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dance piece for "Fringe."
Zhik's mind went blank and his eyes wide as the music swelled; he pressed through the narrow opening and crossed the storage, hesitating in the entry to the next room.

It was barely furnished--a plain lamp, a pile of cushions, the ancient entertainment system from which the music came. Another doorway behind a woven screen: He could see daylight out that way, smell a savory bread and other pleasant odors from the open-air oven. He drew back a pace as a cheerful male voice called out, "Only a little longer, small friend!" and a slender figure slipped past the screen and into the chamber.

The Asha stood very still for a moment, head tilted as she listened to a closing phrase of music--then, to his astonishment, brought up her arms and twirled lightly, eyes closed, arms moving with a grace that was only partly the fringes. She moved nothing but her arms, but Zhik went cold with certainty. She was dancing! "Fringe of Dancer"--there was no doubt! Few Arekkhi could dance any portion of
eghlida
with such precision. The dance could never be learned by rote-- not by one of limited mind! As the music faded and came to an end, he let his breath out in a faint sigh.

Soft as the sound was, she heard it, and whirled to face him; the arm that had been overhead, blocking her face, dropped limply to her side.

"Apologies," Zhik stammered. An-Lieye's eyes went wider, if possible, when she realized who stood there; she brought fingers to rest against her mouth, urgent gesture for silence. In the quiet that followed, he could hear the pantrier talking to himself as he arranged the basket of refreshments.

"Apologies," Zhik whispered; his voice shook ... her fingers trembled. "I...

heard music, 'Fringe of Dancer,' and I... thought..."

She crossed to him, laid the backs of her fingers against his mouth as the pantrier called out, "Ready, little one!" then gestured urgently with her other hand. The gesture was complex, unknown to him, but he caught the sense of what she wanted and hurriedly stepped back against the wall, next to the screen. The Asha gave him a dark-eyed look and went out, returning moments later with the laden basket. He could hear

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the pantrier, singing off-key along with the audio, his mind clearly on his next task. The Asha hesitated, then held out the basket, her eyes fixed on his. He took it, tried to think what to say. The words simply came out as a low stammer.

"They ... my father... they lied to us. To me! About... about Asha!" She gestured assent; her eyes were very worried. She began a gesture, and to his surprise, moved her mouth-- she was
speaking
to him! No sound came, of course; he couldn't understand what she was trying to tell him. "Apologies, I cannot..." She hesitated, her eyes searching his, again made the gesture for silence. That, and the look of her, whiskers and ears trembling just above her fur; he suddenly knew what she wanted."Your secret... ? You fear that I... ? I will keep silence, I will not betray you."

Something of that must have reassured her; she beckoned, drawing him into the storage, sealing the door behind them, crossing quickly to the doorway that led into the corridor, and sealing that as well. Zhik's eyes were fixed on her face, hers on his.
She is afraid. But what can I say? She knows I am
Zhenu's son.
To his astonishment, she drew a pad and stylo from an inner sleeve-pocket and began to write, covering the surface with neat lettering.

Zhik stared, astonished.
True proof; no beast can write!
But he hadn't needed the proof. She held out the pad.

"This chamber, Fahara's rooms, all safe, the Prince tests them often.

Fahara--a friend. Protector. Prince wants the alien-she to learn the truth of Asha."

Khyriz?
Nothing made sense! His confusion must have shown; she took the pad, erased the surface, and wrote again: "Asha are slaves, since the War, some well treated but most not. Few Arekkhi know what we are. With alienshe here, now there is danger to all our kind. The Prince says secret must be revealed with care."

"Danger--from the outsiders?" But she gestured a negative. He swallowed.

"From ... my father?" Hesitation... then assent. "But... but what can he do?

Kill?" His ears went flat as she signed a tremulous assent. "And if he learns that I have discovered...." Her ears quivered and sank. "No. He will not learn, never from me! I swear it." Her ears came

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slowly up; her eyes were fixed, very wide, on his. "There is no time now, Fahara will expect you and the basket. I...An-Lieye, I am
not
my father," he added rapidly. "I know nothing, but... but I would learn. If...I will come again, with the Alexis-she. And ... and for myself, for garments. I..." His mind whirled, thoughts tumbling wildly; the words came unbidden. "If you will speak with me again? Teach me... the truth?"

She went very still for a long moment, and he couldn't begin to decide what she might be thinking. Her whiskers came forward suddenly, and she wrote briefly, "Come again, somehow we will speak." Still smiling, she tugged at the door toggle and took the basket from him. "Wait a little," she mouthed; to his surprise, he followed that.

"So we are not seen together--yes, I will wait." He watched her go, then leaned against the wall, his legs trembling.
You must show nothing,
he ordered himself.
Nothing of these past moments; nothing except... except
pleasure, that the designer-she will begin to provide you with garments.

Such garments would include robes for the upcoming ball, new clothing for the next season ... enough clothing to require frequent visits. The trembling in his limbs faded; he forced his whiskers back to where they should be and stepped into the corridor, the now thoroughly crushed cap dangling from one hand.

The next days went by so quickly, and were so busy, the two women quickly lost track of them, and later only specific events stood out The trip with Khyriz and Bhelan to one of the living bladder-islands north of the royal island was a pleasant ride, but the bladder-island itself was a

disappointment: Footing was treacherous, and the whole thing reeked of dung and long-dead fish.

Ebba's largest fish market had been interesting because they'd spoken with so many Arekkhi--most of them excited to meet the CLS team. Alexis and the Arekkhi didn't seem to notice the overpowering odor; Magdalena, who'd never been around fish in all her life, managed only thanks to her StarBridge training. She even ate raw
gnehyu
prepared specially 167

for her by a stand owner: It looked like a work of art, tasted as bad as the market smelled. Alexis shared an enormous, reeking basket of mixed shel fish with Zhik, joking al the while about "hot-pepper-flavored, deep-fried rubber bands."

They'd taken one short trip into the countryside northwest of

Ebba...unfortunately, the area was deserted except for a distant group building a stone wall. Zhik had looked scared, Magdalena thought, and stammered when Alexis asked if they could go talk to the workers. Khyriz had explained: Those were young males who were recovering from the fever in northwestern Akkherif, volunteers who had joined this program to see if exercise and drier climate would hasten the cure. The guards were there to protect outsiders; they wouldn't let the flitter close. It sounded "off" to Magdalena's inner sense; even Alexis had found the whole thing odd.

Khyriz had finally obtained the flitter-operations software for Alexis, so she could learn to operate a hover-machine like Zhik's; maybe by the time she'd passed the tests, the Council would have come up with a clean loaner for the team. Considering such a flitter would mean freedom of movement anywhere on the planet, Alexis doubted the matter would be that easily resolved. The Council was at least acting more cooperative these days, but there were still petty wrangles over any trip outside Ebba.