gaian consortium 06 - zhore deception (5 page)

Trinity decided that her body must be doing things her brain didn’t know anything about, because everything in her wanted to shrink away from Gabriel’s touch. But she sat still and replied, “Well, I suppose it must be because of that amazing massage you’re giving me.”

“Perfect,” he murmured. His hands stilled but remained resting on her shoulders. “So my touch doesn’t bother you?”

Define “bother,”
she thought, but only said, “No. Should it?”

He paused for a second or two, then bent down, his breath hot against her neck. His lips grazed her skin. “What about this?”

Her flesh wanted to crawl right off her bones. Was this how it started? Maybe those prison guards on Titan wouldn’t be such a bad alternative after all. Willing herself not to react, she replied, “I don’t know, Gabriel. I suppose if you’re going to push it any further than this, you might want to get us a more comfortable room.”

A chuckle. Then his hands lifted from her shoulders and he stepped away. Trinity wouldn’t allow herself to sigh in relief, but she could almost sense her body relaxing. Not all the way — that probably wouldn’t happen until after she survived this whole ordeal…
if
she survived it — but enough that she didn’t feel as if she was about to throw up anymore.

“Now, that would be against regulations. But….” Gabriel paused for so long that Trinity wondered if he was going to push beyond a mere shoulder massage anyway, and what in the world would she do then? To her infinite relief, he lifted his shoulders and moved away from her, going back to the window. “Your reaction was very interesting. You didn’t flinch, or pull away. You endured my touch because you’d clearly decided it was something you just had to do, like it or not. Excellent.”

She didn’t think she liked where this was going. No, wait — she hadn’t liked where this was going pretty much from the very beginning. It was just that things seemed to have abruptly taken a right turn toward the outer circle of hell.

“To answer your question,” Gabriel went on, gaze fixed on the shimmering spires of glass and steel and composite just beyond the duraglass window, “you will be sent to a city called Torzhaan. It lies in Zhoraan’s temperate zone, and is the capital of the planet’s most populous district. There, you will be placed in a position with something that is roughly the equivalent of a city planning office, although in Zhore society, that means more focus on the arcosphere — ”

“The what?” she interrupted, still too shaken to prevent herself from breaking into his narrative, even though she knew interruptions annoyed him.

But apparently he was still pleased with himself over the whole shoulder-massage incident, since he replied in mild enough tones, “The Zhore are very focused on horticulture, on sustainable living spaces. Even in their cities — which are far less dense than ours, because of their lower population — every rooftop, every balcony, has its own garden. As far as we can tell, the local government has its own agency to oversee those gardens and make sure that they’re functioning at full capacity. Anyway, it’s in that division where you’ll be placed. People seem to come and go more or less at will, taking what they call ‘leaves’ from time to time as it suits them.”

That sounded very odd to Trinity. At least, no one she’d ever known had just walked away from a decent-paying job. They were difficult to get, and living on Gaia was expensive. She asked, “And no one will ask any questions about why I’m suddenly working there, out of the blue?”

“It’s always a possibility, but our analysis of the Zhore so far shows them to be a trusting people, not given to suspicion. Maybe something to do with their empathic traits — if they can sense the emotions of those around them, then it’s far more difficult to pretend, to dissemble.”

To lie.
Trinity knotted her fingers together. She supposed that Gabriel Brant and his superiors were relying on her psychic abilities to keep her out of trouble; if the language conditioning did its job, she’d be able to read the Zhores’ thoughts easily enough, and could ask for an immediate extraction if her cover was penetrated somehow. And although what she knew about gardening could fit into her bathroom sink, at least working with plants and flowers didn’t sound too scary. It could have been worse.

“So I go and work on these arcospheres, or whatever you call them,” she said. “And…what? Just spy on everything I see?”

“You, Trinity, will have to do very little, except maintain the façade that you’re merely a worker like hundreds of others. You’ll have a device implanted that sees everything you see, hears everything you hear. The device will transmit all that data back to our operatives, who will analyze it.”

“As easy as that?” she asked. Just being a passive data collector didn’t sound too difficult, at least once you got past the whole infiltrating an alien society thing.

Gabriel turned away from the window and watched her for a few seconds. No, he wasn’t exactly smiling, but something in that cool regard made the hairs on the back of her neck want to stand right up. “Well, there is one more thing….”

Of course there was. She lifted her chin and matched him stare for stare. “And what might that be?”

“We’re very curious as to what the offspring of a human/Zhore pairing would be like, which traits it would inherit from each parent.” Now her handler did smile, a lift at the corners of his mouth that was as empty and soulless as the grimace of a shark. “We want you, Trinity, to locate a compatible Zhore male and mate with him, then return to us so we can study the resulting pregnancy and subsequent birth.”

Zhandar wasn’t sure why Rozhara would request his presence at another counseling session so soon after the last one — it had been less than a week — but he dutifully went to her offices at the third hour of the afternoon after informing Leizha that he would most likely be gone for the rest of the day. She hadn’t asked any questions, for which he was grateful. The last thing he wanted to do was admit that his once-weekly counseling appointment no longer appeared to be sufficient in his counselor’s eyes. The appointments were something he hadn’t bothered to hide from his assistant, although he knew the rest of his staff was so far unaware of his destination when he left every third-day at the eleventh hour of the morning.

When he entered Rozhara’s office, he was startled to see someone else there. A man, judging by his height and the breadth of his shoulders. Not quite as tall as Zhandar himself, but tall enough that they would have been able to look into one another’s eyes…if either of them would ever be mad enough to indulge such a breach of protocol.

“Zhandar,” said Rozhara. “This is Jalzhin. He is with the Ministry of Health Services.”

Anxiety bubbled within Zhandar, but he pressed his hands together and bowed, giving the ancient gesture of respect. “Your presence honors me.”

“As yours does me,” Jalzhin replied.

Custom satisfied, Zhandar crossed his arms and transferred his gaze to Rozhara, whose head was slightly bowed. Although she was too well-mannered to broadcast anything of what she was feeling, he could tell that she was not overly thrilled by the intrusion of this Jalzhin, whatever his reasons might be.

But because she was a forthright person, and not one to hesitate even in uncomfortable situations, she said briskly, “Zhandar, you know I must submit reports to the Ministry as to the progress of my patients. No particulars, of course, nothing that would identify any of you individually. However — ”

“However,” Jalzhin broke in, “there were enough details in your case that it was not difficult to ascertain who it was that had suffered such a tragedy in the recent past. My condolences.”

“My thanks,” Zhandar said stiffly. He already didn’t like the tenor of this interview, although nothing unpleasant had yet been spoken. Then again, Jalzhin’s presence here was enough to send flickers of unease down Zhandar’s spine. Agents of the Ministry of Health did not, as a rule, make social calls.

“We find it somewhat troubling that there does not seem to be any particular progress in your case.”

“Indeed?”

Despite the ice in Zhandar’s tone, Jalzhin appeared unfazed. Voice smooth and unruffled, he went on, “We all understand that one does not recover from such a loss overnight. But it is time that you thought of Zhoraan.”

“I…what?” Zhandar swiveled his head toward Rozhara. Now her gloved fingers were knotted together, a sure sign of her distress. In fact, even though she usually was more than capable of blanking away most of her emotions so they would not trouble those around her, or interfere with her sessions, now he could feel the agitation flowing out from her, coupled with an awkwardness at having to be present during this conversation at all.

“You cannot be unaware of the crisis that faces us all.”

“Of course I’m not unaware! That is precisely why Elzhair lost her life — attempting in her own way to stave off our ruin. But she is gone, and our child with her. What else do you expect of me?”

Jalzhin did not flinch, even in the face of so embarrassing an outburst. “We expect you to do your duty by Zhoraan. You have shown yourself capable of fathering a child. There are many of your generation who cannot even do that. It is time for you to look past your grief, and try again.”

This was impossible. If he had not been here, listening to Jalzhin’s outrageously inappropriate suggestions, he would have thought someone was playing a very cruel joke. As it was….

“I believe I have had enough of this conversation,” Zhandar said, and began to turn toward the door.

But Jalzhin’s voice stopped him. “Perhaps you have, but I have not. I will say the things that must be said, and you will stay and listen to them.”

Never in his life had Zhandar been spoken to in such a manner. This was not the way of his people; all was politeness, all was courtesy and grace. At least in conversations among strangers. Other emotions, darker things, could swim beneath the surface in intimate discourse, but never would they be allowed to rise to a point where they could be seen.

Until now, apparently.

Jaw clenched, he slowly shifted back toward the agent of the Ministry. “I doubt very much that I will want to hear what you have to say.”

“Perhaps not.” Beneath his heavy robes, Jalzhin’s shoulders lifted. “But when the very future of our planet is at stake, we cannot afford to maintain the niceties that have served us for so long.” He paused, and for the first time Zhandar could sense a hint of uncertainty in the other man’s manner. “As soon as our scientists and statisticians began to note the decline in our population, we began to conduct secret research, work that we did not want to share with the general population for fear of creating, if not a panic, then at least an ever-increasing fear that our way of life may be coming to an end.”

It is coming to an end,
Zhandar thought bitterly.
Even if no one has the courage to admit it.

He did not speak those words aloud, however. Instead, he asked, “Am I to assume this work has something to do with me?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Some of the confidence seemed to have returned to Jalzhin as he continued, “For uncounted millennia, we have relied upon the concept of
sayara
to bring our people together. And for all that time, it served us well. Unlike the other sentient races of the galaxy, we have no acrimony in our marriages. Divorce was an alien concept until we moved into the wider galaxy and witnessed such practices among the Gaians and the Eridanis.”

The agent of the Ministry paused then, as if expecting Zhandar to comment. But he had nothing to contribute. He had heard of such things, yes, but he was not a member of the diplomatic corps. He had seen no need to study the alien races of the galaxy in any depth. His life was here on Zhoraan…a life he had expected to share with Elzhair until it was their time to move from this world into the next. It had mattered very little to him that the Gaians or the Eridanis — and, for all he knew, the Stacians as well — could not count on that sort of permanence in their relationships.

Jalzhin seemed to gather himself and plunge ahead, since Zhandar had not spoken, and Rozhara appeared content to be a silent witness to their conversation. Perhaps she had insisted on remaining, rather than allow her counselee to be left alone with a Ministry official.

“But the concept of
sayara
is failing us now. Indeed, it is
sayara
itself that causes some of the problem, for in some cases it seems to circumvent the very act of conception, rather than aid it. Because of that, we can no longer rely solely on the elusiveness of that emotional bond to dictate who we pair with, who we can conceive our children with. We must put it aside and focus on the practical.”

This was — it was beyond blasphemy. It was a negation of everything the Zhore held dear. To lie down with a woman who did not share the
sayara
bond with him? He had heard the Gaians practiced such things, removing completely from the equation of conception any sort of emotional intimacy. He had merely thought it another of their oddities. Certainly he had never considered that he might one day be put in a similar situation.

“And so you expect me to be…what, exactly? A stud who will service as many females as necessary, like a bull
rezhar?
”

Rozhara winced at the harsh words. Jalzhin, however, did not flinch. But his counselor’s voice was calm enough as she said,

“That sounds quite dreadful, Zhandar, and far worse than what Jalzhin actually intends. Please let him speak.”

The agent from the Ministry tugged at his robes, making a minute adjustment that wasn’t necessary. “I believe the process will not be nearly as painful as you anticipate. As I had begun to tell you, our scientists have been working on what you might refer to as an acceptable alternative.”

“‘Acceptable alternative’?” Zhandar repeated, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. “I wasn’t aware there was a way you could find an alternative to the need to have an all-encompassing emotional connection to someone.”

Perhaps Jalzhin smiled within his hood. Of course Zhandar couldn’t see the other man’s face, but something about his stance seemed to alter subtly, as if he was pleased by Zhandar’s remark, even though he hadn’t intended it to be anything other than sarcastic.