[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Scanned by Highroller.
Proofed more or less by Highroller.
Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet.
Freedom Flight by Mercedes
Lackey & Ellen Guon
CHAPTER ONE
The interrogator's lip curled in a contemptuous snarl. "The traitor is
silent. He cannot even speak in his own defense! This is not a highborn
lord of Kilrah; this is a carrion-eater!"
Standing before the interrogator, Lord Ralgha
nar
Hhallas stared
bleakly at his enemy. A green haze fogged Ralgha's eyes, the mist of rage.
He fought to contain it, forcing his fur to lie flat, his ears to remain erect,
his eyes to remain wide open and without visible guile. He won the battle
with his instincts and emotions, as he had won the eight eights of similar
battles during the past few hours. His vision came clear again, and the
urge to tear out the throats of his enemies—any enemies—subsided. He
knew from the posture of the burly guards watching him that he had not
betrayed himself by so much as a tail-twitch.
He could not falter, could not show fear, even for an instant. In this test
of loyalties, any sign of weakness would be instant proof of treason… a true
Kilrathi would be upheld and strengthened by his Honor, impervious to
pain or fear. No torture would break him, no threats would touch his
spirit. If Ralgha showed no fear, if he remained calm and steadfast
throughout this ordeal, then he could not be a traitor.
So does age and experience deceive youth and vigor.
Had he been in charge of this interrogation,
he
would have had his
captive wired and monitored. Perhaps he should be glad that someone like
him was not in charge. But blood would tell, and breeding; that was a
truism. Breeding would carry him through this. He had to believe that.
A whisper of sound from the shadow-shrouded figure seated at the end
of the room. "Can he be trusted, Kalrahr?"
Ralgha
nar
Hhallas stiffened to attention, the hair of his ruff and spine
rising despite his efforts to make it lie flat, uncertain whether he was
going to survive the next few moments. He had seen this shadowy room
before, and had walked through the carved stone corridors of Imperial
Intelligence Headquarters on Ghorah Khar many times, but always as
Lord Ralgha
nar
Hhallas, commanding officer of the
Ras Nik'hra
, a
Fralthi-class cruiser that had fought in many battles for the glory of the
Emperor of Kilrah.
Now, for the first time, he saw these walls through other eyes… as a
prisoner. An interesting experience—if he lived through it.
Ralgha had stood in the center of this room for over five hours now,
answering every question placed to him, patiently managing to keep his
temper despite the taunts of the interrogators. That was their job, after
all; to make him lose his temper, to prove that he was a traitor by angry
word or action. They dared not lay paw to him; he was too high of rank
for
lerkrath
, interrogation by drugs, or
halkrath
, interrogation by torture.
Only the Emperor himself could decree questioning a
Thrak'hra
lord by
needle or knife. But they could deliberately try to provoke him, to invoke
the killing-rage that lay close to the surface of every Kilrathi's mind—and
if he lost control even for an instant, if he neglected to remain in the
military-submissive posture, if he forgot that he was, temporarily, the
lowest-ranked Kilrathi in the room, he would prove that he was a traitor.
Even now, the two burly Imperial guards watched him carefully, in case he
should try to make any kind of movement—either to escape or harm
Jahkai, the Kalrahr of Imperial Security, or to make an attempt on the life
of the other, even more important Kilrathi in this room, the one seated in
the shadows.
Jahkai was watching him with eyes narrowed to slits with his
concentration. As well he might. There was more to this than the
questioning of a possible traitor; more than a conflict between two male
Kilrathi. Ralgha had hated Jahkai since they had first met years ago.
The lowborn brute had pretended to noble airs at a troop review,
bringing shame on the highborn present, that he had
dared
to imitate his
betters. And there was no hiding the fact that Jahkai was lowborn; one
merely had to look at him, and see the mottled, mingled colors of his
coarse fur marking him as
Kilra'hra
, a commoner. So very unlike Ralgha's
own sleek pelt, bright with the colors and sharply distinct patterns of one
of the highest-born families in the Empire. Even the blunt shape of
Jahkai's muzzle, the flatness of his head, and the blunted teeth of one who
was not a hunter showed his lowborn breeding.
Ralgha had repaid that shame by shaming Jahkai in his turn, making a
mockery of him, then laughing in his face, not realizing then that Jahkai
was Kalrahr of Imperial Security for the entire planetary system of Ghorah
Khar…
Now the situation was very different. A word from Jahkai could
condemn Ralgha to death, lowborn or not. If the other Kilrathi in this
room decided that the word was justified. It had all come down to this;
the word of an enemy, the record of his achievements, and the judgment
of a superior.
This was the most dangerous moment of his life. Nothing else had ever
put him into such peril, not even during the battle against the humans for
the Vega Sector.
He remembered that conflict with a small warmth of pride, pride he
cherished against the anger that sought to consume him. He con-
centrated on
his memories of the hours of maneuvering against the
Terran ship, waves of fighter assaults, culminating in the glorious
explosion of the Waterloo-class ship, the blossoming fireball and drifting
debris. The ship had been named the
Leningrad
, he had learned later, and
over five hundred humans had died when it had been destroyed. Five
hundred enemies. Five hundred gifts to Sivar, the War God.
He remembered one moment of fear in that battle, seeing a tiny Terran
fighter diving toward his ship, knowing that half of their forward cannons
were disabled and there was nothing he or his crew could do to stop it…
… then the wing of Imperial Jalthi fighters had banked in sharply and
destroyed the human ship with a well-aimed volley.
Now Ralgha felt that same paralyzing fear, watching his fete being
decided before him, and knowing that there was nothing he could do
about it at all.
Again, the purring whisper. "I am waiting for your answer, Jahkai."
Kalrahr Jahkai turned and spoke to the shadowed figure seated in the
corner of the room. "My lord, I cannot say. In five hours, we have neither
seen nor heard a single hint of treason from Lord Ralgha. But…"
Ralgha stood silently, muscles locked in the rigidity of submissive fear,
and wished with all his heart that he was back in the battle for the Vega
Sector, commanding the crew of the
Ras Nik'hra
against the Terran fleet.
At least then, he had an obvious opponent to fight. Not this shadow-war of
loyalties and treason, where a single gesture could result in his immediate
death. They would not even grant him the honor of death in combat… he
could die in this room, shot like a coward or a prisoner of war, and no one
would ever know…
"Enough." The tall Kilrathi rose from his chair in the corner of the
room, striding forward to face Ralgha. Prince Thrakhath, Heir to the
Throne of Kilrah, stared into his eyes, thoughtful and calculating. Gold
rings glistened in Thrakhath's ears, bright against his red-brown fur and
his red cloak. The spicy musk of one who dallied often with females wafted
to Ralgha's nostrils, but Ralgha refused to be distracted by it. "Tell me,
Ralgha… who do you serve?"
"The glory of the Emperor and the Empire of Kilrah," Ralgha said,
stiffly. "I am yours to command, my Prince."
"Yes." The Prince spoke quietly, his voice low and resonant in the small
room. "I believe you are, Ralgha. You will do well." The Prince turned to
the intelligence officer. "Enough of this farce, Jahkai. I had suspected a
personal animosity when you brought me your suspicions; now I am
certain of it. We are finished here. I will return to K'Tithrak Mang
tonight.
You
will give up this grudge of yours. And to ensure that there will
be no repetition of this—scene—I require that you bring me concrete proof
of deceit before you make any further accusations."
Jahkai flattened his ears and lowered his muzzle submissively; his tail
dragged on the ground, completely limp. Though his eyes were still full of
hate when he looked at Ralgha, the
Thrak'hra
lord was certain that he
would not dare disobey the Prince's orders. He held his rank on sufferance
alone, and many hated him. They would be glad to see him fall.
The Prince glared down at Jahkai. "The Lord Ralgha may return to his
usual duties." The Prince glanced at Ralgha. "What are your standing
orders, Lord Ralgha?"
Ralgha brought his head up, at full attention. "My ship leaves for the
N'Tanya System tonight, my lord," Ralgha said. "We are to join the strike
force departing for the Terran frontier."
The Prince nodded. "You will bring honor to your
hrai
, I am certain of
it. Fight well, Ralgha."
"My lord." Ralgha bowed his head, his tail curled down in a gesture of
respect and submission; careful not to spoil his show of appropriate
behavior by displaying the shock the Prince's last statement had given
him.
He cannot know
, Ralgha thought.
All of my
hrai,
down to my littlest
sibling
…
dead now, these last five years. I have no family now, no way to
share the honors I have won in combat. No one, nothing worth living
for…
My only joy has been fighting the humans. Killing as many of them as
I can, for the glory of the Empire. Taunting them in battle, ignoring
them as they call us "kitten" or "cat"… I wonder what a cat is?… and
then rejoicing in my victory, hearing their death-screams. Winning
honor for my hrai,for my family name.
Now that is meaningless. Without my
hrai...
Prince Thrakhath nodded once to Jahkai, and left the room. Ralgha
began to follow him, but was stopped by a guard's claws on shoulder.
"You may not leave yet, Ralgha," Jahkai hissed in a low voice.
Had the lowborn learned
nothing
? If Ralgha had been younger, more
given to impulse, Jahkai would have been dead at that moment. The
chemicals of anger and fear still sang in his blood, and made his ears ring.
"I am not one of your hirelings, Jahkai, or a human slave. Do not presume
to give me orders. I am a lord of the Empire. Hinder me, and…" Ralgha
smiled, showing teeth. "And I will rip out your throat,
Kilra'hra
scum."
"Fine words from a suspected traitor," Jahkai spat.
"Dangerous words from a low-born Kilrathi. Now that the Prince has
cleared me of suspicion, you might wish to remember that I outrank you,
fool." He narrowed his eyes, and allowed his neck-ruff to rise. "You are too
unworthy to challenge. Would you like to spend some time in your own
stockade? It is not very comfortable, as I have learned in these last days."
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]