Fearful Symmetry: A Terran Empire novel

by Ann Wilson

Chapter IV

When Tarlac woke, though, it wasn't morning and he wasn't on his sleeping mat. It felt like the middle of the night, and he was standing as he had stood once before at the altar in the clanhome's gathering hall, with his palms laid flat on the bare lower platform.

He didn't know why or how he came to be here looking up at the images of those who formed the Circle of Lords, but it seemed right to him that he stood so, at peace as his hands rested on the alien altar.

Or was it alien? He didn't want it to be, and it certainly didn't seem alien. He knew, now, what he had only felt during the drive to the clanhome. He belonged here, to the Traiti, as surely as he belonged to the Empire, and he had to bring the two together. It was a need he didn't question, any more than he questioned the approval he sensed from somewhere. Stepping back from the altar, he bowed formally.

Conscious of the chilly night air on his bare skin, he descended the steps, intending to return to the sleeproom he shared with Hovan and several other fighters.

There was someone at the far end of the gathering hall, approaching him. He recognized the green-robed figure as the Speaker, Daria, and wondered briefly if being here in his condition was considered disrespectful, or worse.

Apparently it wasn't; she smiled at him. "The Lords saw fit to summon you quickly. Was the communion pleasant?"

"I don't know," Tarlac said. "I don't remember—"

He broke off in shock. She had spoken Language, and he'd answered in it. Not in the halting fragments he'd learned from Hovan, but as easily and fluently as if he'd been speaking Imperial English! "What— How—"

"The Lords taught you, of course." She showed no surprise at that. "But here, I brought a cloak when I sensed them calling you; I thought you would need it. And come, I will get you some hot chovas. It will warm you."

"Thanks." Tarlac took the cloak gratefully and wrapped it around his body, feeling a sense of relief. He'd adapted well enough to the in-clan nudity that under most circumstances being nude himself might not bother him too badly—but this woman was the clan's religious leader, and he was still uncertain enough not to want to commit any Terran improprieties around her. "The chovas sounds good, too."

By the time they were in the dining room and Daria had brought mugs of aromatic chovas from the always-ready pot in the kitchen, he'd stopped shivering and managed to accept the fact of his new command of Language. He'd also discovered it did him no good to think about how he'd gotten it. When he tried, his thoughts simply shied away from the subject.

"Do the Lords do that sort of thing often?" he asked as they took seats. They weren't the only ones in the dining room, even at this hour, but nobody paid any noticeable attention to them.

"No, they very seldom intervene," she said calmly. "Why? Do your gods speak often?"

"It hasn't been proven that any ever have. I've never really believed in any of Terra's gods." The hot mug between his hands gave off cinnamon-flavored steam. "I'm not very good at taking things on faith."

"On faith? Your gods provide no evidence?" Daria's voice held faint disapproval. "They must be inferior gods, then."

Tarlac had to agree. "Yeah. The Circle of Lords doesn't leave much room for doubt, does it? No wonder Hovan thought I was naive."

He took a drink of his chovas, enjoying the warmth amid his troubled thoughts. He didn't see any alternative to accepting the Lords' reality, like it or not. And he didn't particularly like it. Gods who took an active part in mundane affairs introduced an uncertainty factor that he found unsettling at best. "Why haven't they helped you win the war, though?" he asked.

Daria smiled sadly. Apparently Language hadn't been the only thing the Lords taught him; he was reading her expression easily. "Who can say what motivates a god? We can only hope that their intervention now, through you, will save some of us."

"Yeah." Tarlac sipped again at his chovas. "Look, will you explain something for me?"

"If I can. What is it?"

"What in—" Tarlac hesitated, modified what he was going to say. "What does a Ranger taking the Ordeal have to do with ending the war?"

Daria was silent for a moment, then she smiled again, easily, at the Ranger's almost aggrieved tone. "Ruhar, you must have noticed that all officers and high-status males are n'Cor'naya. There is a reason for that; we have so many that there must be a way to select the most capable, courageous, and honorable. The Ordeal has done that for many millennia, though it changed when Lord Sepol was called to the Circle.

"If the war is to be ended with honor, it must be done by someone who has high status on both sides. As a Ranger, you already have that in the Empire; once you pass the Ordeal, you will also be able to negotiate a peace agreement as a Cor'naya."

Tarlac frowned. "Any agreement that will work can't involve you … surrendering"—he had to use the English word—"since that's something you can't do. With the way your people fight, and with us winning as decisively as we are, that is not going to be easy. Will the Lords help me there?"

"I cannot tell you," Daria said, frowning in her turn, perhaps at the unfamiliar word. "They have remained unresponsive; I can only pray that they will. But you must not count on it, for they give no more help than they consider essential. If they think there is any possibility you can do it without them, success or failure is up to you. We must learn, they say, by our mistakes."

"It wasn't your mistake that started this war," Tarlac said. "It was the Empire's, but you're the ones paying for it." He had a sudden thought, frowned again. "Fleet-Captain Arjen said the Supreme and First Speaker invited me here. That 'invitation' really came from the Lords, didn't it?"

Daria nodded. "Yes; all the Speakers know. But do not let that make you over-confident of their help. It is quite likely that having you brought here and teaching you Language is all they intend to do."

She sensed a question he hesitated to ask, and smiled. "No, Steve, your adoption was not dictated by the Lords. The Speakers were informed of your need to take the Ordeal, and we in turn informed our respective Clan Mothers—but the choice of offering adoption or not was theirs. Ka'ruchaya Yarra, in her wisdom, chose to offer it, and I am glad."

"So'm I. And it may mean I do have a chance of finishing." Tarlac grinned, unable to suppress a short-lived surge of hope. He'd been prepared to die to bring peace; just the thought of living to enjoy it, as Hovan was confident he would, was enough to make him reach out and take Daria's hand even as it faded. "Thanks, ruhar. I was—"

"I know," Daria interrupted, putting her other hand over his. "That you continue when you feel certain of death does you honor. You are so intense, Steve. Relax, let the chovas soothe you."

"I can now, I guess. But I'm still worried. From what Hovan's told me, the Ordeal's no picnic, even if I do get help from the Lords."

"That is true, es'ruhar, but be easy. Worrying will only make it worse."

Tarlac was touched by her concern, and even more by what she called him—though her intonation, combined with her use of the male signifier, made that term … intimate. It was almost embarrassing, and he didn't know how to respond. "Speaker…"

"I am Daria, es'ruhar."

"Daria, then." Tarlac was acutely aware of her tone and her touch. The gray skin, despite its dense toughness, was soft and supple around his hands. This was a little too much closeness. "Uh, I think the Traiti and Empire have a lot to offer each other. For instance, you—"

"Steve, es'ruhar…" Daria interrupted again, smiling gently as she ran the backs of her claws up and down his forearm.

Tarlac shivered, not from cold, and a gulp of hot chovas didn't help. He wanted to run from what he was suddenly sure she meant. He couldn't, not yet, not so soon—maybe never! He was afraid as he'd never been in combat, and shamed by the fear, but he was unable to deny it.

Daria paused, sensing the man's reaction. She had expected some unease; the Lords said that he had never shared bodies, since he had never gone through the ceremony humans needed to make it honorable, as some of the prisoners had. But simple inexperience didn't explain his near-panic response. There was a First Sharing for everyone, an occasion for joy in the clan almost as important as a birth.

Then she remembered stories she had heard about the prisoners, stories she recalled only with pity. "Married" Terrans shared bodies, yes, but only in private, as if doing so brought shame even then. And they never spoke of it, never otherwise slept unclothed, and certainly never allowed their bodies that freedom while awake. That had to mean, she realized with sudden horror, that Steve was disturbed by just the thought of such sharing. He must be fighting not to think of it at this moment.

Touching hadn't upset him before, but now his arm muscles were taut under her fingers, and she could tell it cost him effort to remain motionless and silent. She didn't remove her hand, letting it lie as before over his forearm, but when she spoke her intonation was concerned instead of intimate. "Ruhar, let me help you."

". . . What? Help? I … don't need any help. It's just … I'm not judging you, but you can't ask me to…"

Tarlac's voice trailed off. He couldn't look up and meet her eyes, could only stare at the gray, gracefully-clawed hand on his arm. At the altar he had felt he belonged to these people, and it had made him happy. Now he was a confused alien again, belonging nowhere and to no one.

The sudden violent changes of emotion he'd begun experiencing lately weren't usual for him at all, and he didn't know how to handle them. It was like some of the Academy entrance examinations, when he'd been tested for his reactions to mood-altering drugs—and, at the same time, for his ability to function under wildly varying conditions. He'd been trying to adapt to too many things at once, he thought desperately. Maybe he did need to slow the pace, maybe he should … but he didn't have time…

He couldn't … couldn't do what he thought she wanted. He hesitated, tried to explain. "Speaker, I can't make love to you," he said desperately, forcing himself to speak quietly though his words came out in short, harsh phrases. "It just isn't done. Even if you weren't a priestess. We aren't married. I gave up wanting a family … I just can't!"

When he became silent, Daria said softly, "You joined Ch'kara."

"I had to. To take the Ordeal." Tarlac was still staring at her hand, and sat frozen where he was as she moved to a place beside him.

Ah, the Ordeal, she thought compassionately. Perhaps if he knew this was part of the Ordeal, showing he was able to share in the creation of a new life? Then she decided against telling him. It would be better if he did not know just yet, if he did this freely rather than from a sense of obligation. "Ruhar, please. Let me help. I can ease the ill that has been done you, perhaps cure it. You need not suffer as you do."

"Ill?" After a few moments, the Ranger was able to look up into sympathetic amber eyes. "I'm not suffering, I like what I do. You just, well, surprised me. I didn't mean to offend you. If I did, I'm sorry."

She'd shocked the hell out of him, would be more accurate, but he had regained some control and did regret any distress he might have caused her. More, he was angry at himself for losing control in the first place. It was about time he started thinking with something more than his cultural prejudices. Dammit, he was supposed to be able to adapt to just about any circumstances. So why shouldn't he accept this?

Unless she was right, and something in Terran culture had warped him.

Or—maybe not warped him, but been mistaken about him. He'd lost his reserve far too easily in the short time he'd spent aboard the Hermnaen, and here in-clan, for real detachment to have been an integral part of him. He'd enjoyed—until now—the Traiti closeness that was unacceptable in Terran society at present.

That had to be it. The tests, reliable as they were, weren't infallible; they'd missed Shining Arrow's need for closeness. Given his own isolated childhood, it wasn't surprising they'd missed the same need in him—a need he hadn't even known, in Terran society, that he had.

And that was his key. This wasn't Terra. This was the Traiti Homeworld, and physical expression of affection was the norm here. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, deliberately relaxing.

Daria felt his body's tension ease, and put an arm around his shoulders. "That is better, ruhar. I have heard of marriage, though it is not a Traiti custom. Adopted or not, you are part of the clan, and you are adult. Any ruhar can share bodies with you, in full honor."

Any—? the Ranger thought blankly, then he realized it made sense. With their sex ratio and limited fertility, the Traiti couldn't pair up as Terrans did. Hovan and the five he shared young with should have made that obvious. But she was still a priestess…

Daria answered that unspoken thought, startling him. "The Lords do not forbid their Speakers sharing of bodies or young—if they did, none would serve them. There are no barriers, es'ruhar, except those in your mind."

She was silent then, letting the man absorb her words and her unspoken caring, as some people drifted out of the room and others drifted in, to sit near them. The emotional storm Steve was generating, and its texture, let the clan know his First Sharing was near, and that he needed support to make it what it should be.

Daria remembered her own First Sharing, a good eighty years ago, and recalled that she had been a little apprehensive herself, even though she had grown up seeing the adults sharing bodies. She had only relaxed when her best-loved es'ruhar, he who had given her life, came to give her this gift as well. And those who were with them included her other closest n'ruhar.

Now the ones Steve knew best were here to show their approval and joy. Daria regretted that he had no one really close to him for this, but with Hovan and the others around them, she was sure he would take some pleasure in it, and he would be unaware of how much he was missing.

Tarlac felt the presence of his n'ruhar, male and female alike, in a perception that was a glow of warmth. They were his clan, his family. And yes, he was es'ruhar to Daria. He looked up at her, reached to run his fingers softly along the side of her face. "Ka'ruhar," he said, almost whispering, "I will … I will be proud to share bodies with you this night."

When Tarlac woke the next morning he felt good, almost euphoric, eased of a tension he'd lived with for so long he'd forgotten he had it. Daria was also awake, he realized, and those who had been with them the night before were now gone. He put his arms around her.

"Ka'ruhar … it was unbelievable." He remembered the night with delight, and appreciation for something he'd never expected to experience—the unity with another person, someone who treated him as a person instead of a symbol.

"Such sharing is always good," she said serenely, running gentle claws down his back. "And we share more, my Steve. I bear our ka'esten."

"Our daughter." Tarlac, beyond surprise, couldn't question her knowledge of pregnancy or of the baby's sex. He took a moment to sort out his reactions. He knew Daria was pleased—he couldn't deny that in a way he was pleased himself!—but this made it certain. One way or another, this was his last mission as a Ranger. He'd told Hovan what might happen if he returned to the Empire with a clan and family, but he hadn't really expected to have to leave the only group of friends he'd known. That would be a wrench.

Still … he remembered the feeling of belonging he'd had at the altar, and Daria's undeniable concern for him. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad a deal, at that, if he somehow survived. He might be gaining more than he lost … a badge for a daughter. Jim and Linda for Hovan and Daria. Yeah, that seemed fair enough.

Tarlac smiled, already a bit nostalgic. Guess you'll have to find yourself another Ranger, Jean, he thought. Looks like if I ever ride the Lindner again, it'll be as a passenger. Then his attention turned fully to Daria, and the idea of being a father.

It turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant idea. He felt brief concern about how their daughter would be accepted, but decided that shouldn't be a problem, since he'd been accepted. Something else was more important. "Daria, ka'ruhar—what happens to her, and to you, if I fail? Not if I die trying this; I know Ch'kara will take care of you both. But if I can't end the war, and the Empire invades Homeworld?"

Her serenity was unimpaired. "I believe you will not fail, that you will watch her grow. To ease your mind, though, as long as I am carrying and nursing her, it would be dishonorable for me to fight—and the need to care for her will keep me alive, even as a captive, until she no longer needs me."

"That helps, some." It wasn't perfect; Tarlac didn't want anyone to have to die, and he hoped the invasion never happened … but what she said did help. Then another thought occurred to him. "What'll we name her?"

"We have time to give that much thought," Daria said with amusement. "But not now. I have duties, and we both must eat."

"I suppose so." He hated to do it, but he released her and they both rose.

Going to the door, Daria retrieved a bundle and handed it to him. Clothes, in Imperial green and silver—with his badge. He took them, pleasantly surprised; he'd expected to have to go back to his quarters to dress. Somebody was being thoughtful.

Nobody seemed to pay any particular attention to them when they went in to breakfast, though Tarlac was reasonably sure that what had happened was common knowledge. He became positive when, shortly after they found seats, Hovan and Yarra joined them.

Yarra smiled at them "Well, Steve, have you lost all your doubts of truly belonging?"

"There's no need for the English now, Ka'ruchaya—the Lords are good teachers." Tarlac was still baffled by their gift of Language, but he'd come to accept it. "I've lost all my doubts."

"That is good," Yarra said. "I like my n'ruesten at ease."

Then Daria touched Steve's hand. "You tell them, es'ruhar. I will tell the rest at morning service."

"Tell us what?" Hovan asked, but his face told Steve that he'd guessed the news.

"Daria and I share a daughter."

Hovan looked at the two of them, then at Yarra. "It seems our newest one serves Ch'kara well. And himself—I have never heard of anyone passing the first part of the Ordeal so quickly."

"The Ordeal!" Tarlac exclaimed—but shock almost instantly turned to understanding. "Daria, you should have told me!"

"And make your First Sharing a thing of duty instead of joy? No, es'ruhar. That would have been wrong for you, and for our ka'esten. You deserve better of the clan."

Yarra smiled at them, and spoke to Steve. "Ruesten, the Lords must truly favor you, to teach you Language, then grant a girl child to the clan on your first sharing of bodies. That is a thing of joy, for all of us."

"Yes, but—"

"No buts, ruhar," Hovan said. "Are you concerned that she is half human? That does not matter." He turned to Yarra and Daria. "Ka'ruchaya, may I show him?"

Yarra nodded. "If Daria permits."

"Go ahead," Daria said. "I am content to make the formal announcement at service."

Hovan stood and raised his arms, claws fully extended in a stance that demanded the room's full attention. Silence fell, and he waited until every face in the dining room was turned toward him.

"In seven tenth-years, n'ruhar," he began, "we will have—"

Some breakfasters were quick to make the connection between the timespan and the previous night's First Sharing, no doubt aided by the little group's satisfied expressions.

"Female or male?" someone called.

"Female!" Hovan called back, too proud for Steve to be dismayed by the interruption.

Within seconds Tarlac and Daria were surrounded by well-wishers, being congratulated with obvious sincerity. There was no doubt in the Ranger's mind of that, as he found himself grinning like an idiot, accepting the compliments and feeling as pleased with himself as any Traiti male.

A clan-sized family had built-in safeguards against his swelling head, though. A youngling Steve couldn't remember meeting tugged at his shirt, and when he looked around, said, "Hey, ruchaya Steve, you don't talk funny any more."

Tarlac laughed. "Thanks! Think you could do any better, in English?"

The youngling grinned engagingly at him. "Sure I could, if you teach me."

"We'll see. If I have time, it's a deal."

Over the next several days, however, Tarlac was too busy to teach; he was studying instead, fourteen hours a day, which left him time for little except food and sleep. He didn't mind the hard work; it was interesting, and it would very probably keep him alive—if anything would.

Hovan did leave him time to study the first-contact tape and read the daily news summaries the Supreme had delivered as promised. Neither brought any surprises, though he paid close attention to the tape, trying to find some way the war could have been avoided. Doing so wouldn't solve this situation, but it might help prevent another first-contact disaster.

He didn't find anything. The tape simply confirmed Hovan's account of the first human/Traiti meeting, adding little to Tarlac's knowledge except a sight of the guardship crew's intense horror when they saw women aboard an armed scout, being taken into danger only males should face. The human scouts had followed first-contact procedure, Tarlac found; the problem was the mixed crew, and there was no point in changing that. Anything the Empire did there—except perhaps for crewing all scouts with Irschchans, whose sex was difficult for non-felinoids to distinguish—could be just as bad, depending on the culture being contacted. And that had other practical difficulties. No, the Ranger decided, it was what he'd originally called it: a mutual misunderstanding. What he'd called the Empire's fault, to Daria, had been unavoidable. Neither side could be blamed.

The news summaries reported that the Empire was winning as steadily as ever. It was the casualty reports that bothered Tarlac. The Imperial losses were lighter than predicted, and he knew few individuals in the Empire well enough to feel more than mild regret at their deaths; but the increasingly heavy Traiti casualties upset him with their sheer numbers.

More, some of them hit him very personally. The loss of people from Ch'kara, even people he'd never met, left a void. They were a loss to the entire clan, and it wasn't balanced by the birth of a son to one of the n'ka'ruhar on Norvis—though Tarlac did share the clan's joy at that event.

The losses couldn't intensify his need to end the war, though. Nothing could; it was already the central fact of his existence. So, aside from paying attention to the news summaries and the necessities of life, Tarlac spent all his time on the concentrated study that might keep him alive through the Ordeal.

All the same, it was a welcome break when, just before dinner the evening of his tenth day on Homeworld, Hovan informed him that school was over and invited him to join one of the fighters' discussion groups after eating.

Tarlac pushed himself away from the study unit and stood, stretching luxuriously. "That sounds good, and I could sure use the change. Have you decided when I'm supposed to go out?"

"Tomorrow, or if you prefer, the next day."

"Okay. Tomorrow, then. I still don't care to waste time."

"I thought you would not. I arranged for a null-grav car for midmorning; I will take you to the test area myself." He smiled a little. "Before we leave, you will have to make a decision. Now that you know all the dangers, you must choose whether to remain in the test area for the full two ten-days, or attempt to walk out. The Ordeal requires that you survive, nothing more."

"Mmm." Tarlac frowned. "Staying put's safer, but if I'm lucky, walking out should only take five or ten days. That's ten, maybe fifteen days saved—I'll take the chance. And I'll bet you expected that, too."

Hovan's smile widened. "I did. It means you will carry a locator beacon as well as your knife, timed to go off in twenty days. If you are not back here by then, we will come for you."

"Yeah, okay. You know me pretty well, don't you? Let's eat."

He slept that night as if he had nothing hanging over him, and when he went to first-meal, barefoot and wearing only shorts and a knife, he was greeted with enthusiasm and urged, almost forced, to eat heartily. It was the last meal in quite a few days, he was concernedly told, that he could be sure of.

"Hey, don't worry about that!" he reassured them, chuckling. "Being small does give me some advantages—I can go for two or three days without eating and without getting really hungry."

That drew some exclamations of disbelief. A Traiti who fasted for even a single day would feel severe hunger pains, and three days would leave one seriously weakened.

"An advantage that may balance his lack of claws and his thin skin," Hovan pointed out. "It seems a fair exchange; otherwise he faces the same hazards we do."

"Yeah," Tarlac said. "It's a little hard to convince an overgrown bobcat to pull its punches."

"N'derybach are not known for their peaceful dispositions," Hovan agreed. "But if you are done eating, we should leave. You will want as much daylight as you can get."

"Okay, let's go. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Moments later, Tarlac and Hovan were climbing into one of the clan's null-grav cars. Hovan was confident that Steve was, as he'd said, truly as ready as possible; there was no point in a last-minute briefing, so they made the trip to the test area in companionable silence.

Twenty n'liu from the clanhome, slightly over fifty kilometers, Hovan set the null-grav car down in a clearing, reached into a storage compartment in the control panel, and handed Steve the locator beacon.

Tarlac clipped it to the waistband of his shorts. "Twenty days, right?" he said as he climbed out of the car.

"Five or ten," Hovan said with a smile. "May Lord Sepol guard and guide you, ruhar." Then he lifted the car and pointed it toward the clanhome. Steve was on his own now, totally out of contact, and Hovan found himself suddenly apprehensive. N'derybach weren't the only dangers in Homeworld's wilderness.