An earthly crown

CHAPTER TWELVE

"He doesn't like me," said Charles Soerensen.

Cara Hierakis had knelt next to him to lace up her boots. She did not bother to look up. "What possible reason would he have not to like you?" When Charles did not reply, she answered herself. "Perhaps he considers you a threat to his power. I just don't understand why all the mystery about Tess. I feel that there is something I'm missing."

She waited expectantly. A misting rain fell, though they remained dry here under the awning. Charles merely shifted in his chair, moving one arm to rest on the padded armrest. "I just wish he weren't so cursed polite all the time," he said.

"Yes, he was well brought up, wasn't he? I like him."

Charles stood up. Cara glanced up at him, then stood as well, turning.

Bakhtiian, flanked by four of his men, approached them. The rain let up just as the sun came out, casting a glow on the cluster of monochromatic khaki-colored canvas tents that housed Charles's party and the Company. Beside the central tent, two of the actors crouched by the fire pit, rubbing their hands together to warm them over the bright lick of flame while they waited for the kettle to boil. About twenty paces away, two of Bakhtiian's riders watched this display with perplexed interest.

Bakhtiian did not give the scene a second glance. He paused outside the awning of Charles's tent, and when Charles nodded, he stepped under the awning, leaving his attendants behind. First he inclined his head to Dr. Hierakis: only then did he turn his attention to Charles.

"'We must move quickly today. My scouts have brought me word that a force of armed men, mercenaries, is marching to meet us. Some of my riders will help your party break camp and load your wagons and then guide you along the swiftest route toward our main camp while the bulk of my troop engages the enemy. I would not want you in any danger.''

Watching Bakhtiian's face, Cara wondered if he meant the comment to be sarcastic, but she could read no insincerity in his expression or his tone.

Charles studied him a moment in silence. "Obviously," he said, "your strength as an army is mobility. Will your opponent be equally mobile?"

"They're mostly foot soldiers. We've already encircled them. They should pose no threat to your people, but it would be safer for you to travel farther out onto the plains."

"I will see to it that my party understands," Charles replied, "but I wonder if it could be arranged for a member of my party to observe the battle?"

Bakhtiian blinked. "Observe the battle?" he asked, as if the idea of observing a battle was so fantastic that it had to be repeated to actually take form.

"She studies war," Charles explained.

"Ah," said Bakhtiian. "The one who walks like a man." Then he glanced swiftly at Hierakis, and said, "I beg your pardon."

"No offense taken," replied Cara, torn between amusement and apprehension. The thought of a battle worried her. How could it not? She had lived in Jeds long enough to know the sorts of ugly wounds that swords and spears and arrows produce in human flesh. But more worrisome was this constant undercurrent of sparring between the two men, as if there, too, a battle loomed, but neither general was yet willing to commit his forces.

Charles fought to suppress a smile and finally gave up. "Yes. That would be Ursula. Can it be arranged?"

"Yes." Bakhtiian glanced over his shoulder and spoke words in khush. One of his attendants jogged away. "Is there anyone else who would like to-observe?" he asked.

"I would," said Charles.

Bakhtiian did not reply for a moment, as if waiting for Hierakis to apply as well. When she did not speak, he nodded curtly. "I will arrange it. Now, if you will excuse me." He left, attendants in tow.

"Charles, why in hell do you want to watch men killing each other? Ursula will be faint for the chance to see this, and since she has as much sensibility as a grave digger, it doesn't concern me, but you-?"

"Cara, my dear, Tess has trained to fight in this man's army. I want to see what she's let herself in for."

"Lady bless us," responded Cara, suddenly enlightened. "You don't suppose she was wounded, do you? That would explain why she didn't come to meet us-"

"I'll go roust Ursula." Charles left her without waiting for her to finish.

Used to his abruptness, Cara merely knelt and laced up her other boot. Then, glancing once at the actors by the fire, whose numbers had tripled, she slipped into Charles's tent. Since he had so little baggage, it took her very little time to find the folded parchment square that the young jaran rider named Aleksi had delivered to Charles at the end of that awful banquet. She flicked the brooch at her collar so that it bled light into the dark interior. Tess's writing! She began to read.

"Dear Charles, I apologize for not coming to meet you, although why I'm apologizing I don't know, when I had every intention of riding to the port but was forestalled by Ilya, who compounded the offense by forbidding me to leave camp until he returns with you and your party. Despite the fact that I have trained for over three years, he refuses to let me fight. While this may be an act you applaud, you cannot understand how it undermines what I am, and the entire fabric of my relationship to the jaran. If he did, in fact, marry me because-"

Cara had to stop reading for ten entire ten seconds, just absorbing this astounding fact. From outside, she heard a wagon draw up, and the lowing of beasts. She forced herself to read again.

"If he did, in fact, marry me because I am different, then he is doing everything in his power now to absorb me into his world entirely, however much he does it unconsciously. But then, Ilya is such a-" Here Tess had scratched out several words with such a thick stroke that Cara could not puzzle them out. "I will not let that happen."

A sudden lance of natural light interrupted her. Charles walked in. He paused, one hand still on the tent flap, holding it open. She touched her brooch, and the slim beam of light vanished.

He regarded her quizzically. "What's that?"

"Tess's letter to you."

"You might have asked."

"If I'd asked, you would simply have hidden it better. I've known Tess almost as long as you have, Charles. You might have shared this with me. Married! To Bakhtiian!"

Charles smiled. "It gives me such pleasure to see you astonished, Cara, because it happens so rarely. Let me remind you that under Chapalii law a woman who marries loses all connection to her birth status and takes on her husband's status entirely. Given that the natives of Rhui, again under Chapalii law, qualify as wildlife-not even as intelligent life-that puts Tess's position as my heir rather in jeopardy. As it were."

"You can scarcely think I'd trumpet this marriage to Chapalii Protocol. And in any case, you never contested her death declaration, so it seems to me that it's a moot point."

He let the tent flap down, drowning them in dimness. "Tess's marrying can never be a moot point. I didn't contest the declaration, but neither did I acknowledge it. That leaves her fate open to change."

"And frees your hand to play your cards when you will. Still, there are rumors enough floating around that Tess is not dead, but in hiding."

"Yes, and that serves our purpose as well. We humans understand rumors, and Chapalii do not."

There was a silence, broken at last by Cara. "Do you know, Charles, I'm a little hurt. Marco must know."

"Of course, but only because he guessed. And he swore not to tell anyone, for the same reasons. If only I know, then it can go no farther, no matter what the persuasion." In the gloom of the tent, his voice carried with a mildness that was, Cara knew, deceptive.

But she still felt hurt. "Have I ever told you that the one thing I most dislike about you is this tendency you have to hoard information? You may smile, since you've heard it a hundred times, but you must start trusting others."

She had long since grown used to his silences. This one was rueful. He got that funny little half smile on his face and crossed the room to her. "My love, I trust you entirely.'' He embraced her, and they stood for a while that way. Finally, he eased himself away from her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "It's the Chapalii I don't trust. Please recall that they murdered my parents."

"I haven't forgotten it. Goddess, how could I? Still-"

He chuckled and released her hands. "I yield. It's now time that you know the whole of it. Read the rest."

"I appreciate your openness," she said dryly, and she flicked on her brooch light and scanned the page.

"Now I regret letting Aleksi remove the contraceptive patch in my left arm. Not entirely, because Ilya wants children so badly, but I had hoped-it sounds incredibly ridiculous to me now to say that I had hoped to have some experience, to have acquitted myself well as a fighter, before being bound to camp by pregnancy.''

"Pregnancy!" For the first time since beginning this journey, Cara felt real alarm, the pound of adrenaline, warmth flushing her skin. "But the incompatibilities! It could be lethal!"

"Now you see why I brought you, Doctor."

"But wasn't she told-?"

"How old was Tess when she lived in Jeds with us?"

She shook her head, having to count back years and calculate. "Ten? Twelve? She was a child."

"Too young to get the lecture all the adults working on Jeds have received. And neither you nor I ever expected her to return so precipitously.''

"Or so secretly. Much less marry. She's just a little girl. I never thought she would grow up." She shook herself with disgust. "How I hate it when I don't think."

Charles smiled, a quirk of the lips. "We are here now. There's no reason Tess can't come home with us, when we leave. That will put her out of danger."

"Charles. Charles. You can't possibly believe that it will be so easy. Married! There's a very good reason. You've met him."

It was too dark to read his expression, but his mouth tightened, and his lashes shadowed his eyes. "We shall see," he murmured. "I must go."

Light flashed and vanished, and she was alone. "Goddess," she swore. Still, what if it could be done? One Earth woman and three Rhuian women had gotten pregnant by men from the other planet and all of them had died, inevitably, from antigenic reactions caused by incompatibilities between Earth and Rhuian humans. But one of the babies had lived. Surely with proper monitoring, with complete studies of both parents, a pregnancy could be brought to term successfully. Think how much she could learn from it! The rate of mutation, the alterations the Chapalii had made within the DNA of the Earth population moved to Rhui, the changes, the adaptations, that had come about by themselves on Rhui which could be measured in contrast to Earth's template-indeed, the development of a fetus molded of both worlds-all of this could be measured and quantified in such a controlled experiment. Added to what she had already learned, to her studies of the fundamental process of human development and aging-

But this was Tess. She recoiled from her own thoughts, shook herself, and read on.

"By the way, don't be concerned about Aleksi's involvement. He has a peculiar, detached way of looking at things, having been orphaned at an early age and only admitted into our tribe because of my friendship and because he has quite simply the best hand for the saber that anyone in recent memory has possessed, and he guessed soon after we met that I had come from a place not only different, but different in a way that passed the understanding of most of the jaran-even of Ilya. He is truly my brother in every sense of the word (except the biological). I trust him completely, and you should, too. He will deliver this letter to you. Also, when you arrive at the main camp, if I'm not there, do not worry. I may be riding out with a group that is going to escort a southern ambassador to our camp. I will be back soon after you arrive. Bakhtiian does not know this (of course), so don't be concerned if he gets furious. He has a hard time containing his emotions and he hates having his will thwarted, but he won't let his anger at me prejudice his dealings with you. Safe journey. Love, Tess."

"Safe journey, indeed," Cara muttered. She folded the parchment and tucked it back neatly into the pocket of the shirt in which she had found it, squaring off the corners. Then she went outside.

David had weeks since been granted the unofficial post of camp leader, a position he warranted due to his previous experience of camping expeditions on Earth and to his ability to work in harmony with Yomi Applegate-Hito, whose authority over the day to day routine of the Company not even Charles dared contest. By the time Cara ventured outside, David had already begun directing the striking of camp. Most of the actors and all of the rest of Charles's immediate party rolled up tents and loaded wagons with commendable haste. Next to one of the wagons, reclining soporifically on a canvas chair, Anahita Liel Apphia sat with one hand cast up over her eyes, as if the sudden turn of events had exhausted her nerves. One of the young male actors-Cara could not recall his name, but Narcissus would have been appropriate-knelt beside her, patting her cheeks with a damp cloth. Beyond them, the big tent fluttered and sagged and with a gushing sigh collapsed. Beneath the canvas, a single figure struggled to free himself from inside. Cara hurried over and lifted the material enough to help him out; it was the leading man, Gwyn Jones.

"May I help?" she asked.

He smiled. Gwyn was a fairly young man, his features interesting rather than handsome; he had a quiet intensity that never, except when he was on stage, erupted into dramatics. "Please," he said. He glanced briefly toward Anahita and her companion. Diana had stopped next to the pair and seemed to be making a speech. "Di!" Gwyn called. She turned and, when he waved at her, jogged over to them.

"We need a hand here." Gwyn indicated Cara and himself. He bent to straighten one corner of the big tent.

"Well, I must say," said Diana to Cara, seeing that Gwyn was inclined to ignore her, "that I'm disgusted with Hyacinth that he would cater to her whims rather than do something useful." Expecting no reply, and receiving only Cara's enigmatic smile, she strode around to another corner and pulled it tight.

Hal Bharentous arrived and, with four of them, the folding went quickly. As Diana and Gwyn rolled the canvas up and tied it, and Hal collected and bound up the poles, Cara allowed herself a moment to step back and watch while she wound the guidelines up.

"Doctor," said a voice behind her. "I see you observe as well. Everything we watch, everything we do, becomes part of the work. And all work feeds the exercise that becomes the theater, the actual performance of which is only another, if more polished, exercise."

Cara turned. "M. Zerentous."

Owen Zerentous gave the briefest nod in acknowledgment, but his attention remained fixed on his actors. "There can be no separation between work and life. Like the rehearsal, the journey itself is a discovery."

"Dad," said Hal, half hidden by the bound poles, "I don't think Dr. Hierakis is interested in your theories."

"But of course she is," said Zerentous. "She is a research scientist, an act of creative performance that binds her close in spirit to every other artist. Are you not, Doctor?"

Cara was saved a reply by the sudden eruption of an altercation over by the wagons, where Madelena Quinn was attempting to physically drag Hyacinth away from his station by Anahita. Zerentous' interest, and his focus, shifted so thoroughly away from her that Cara felt as if he had left her before he took one step away.

"Well," she said to no one as Zerentous strode away to observe this newest scene.

Gwyn Jones glanced up at her. "Yes," he said, following the direction of her gaze, "but you must forgive him much. He's a genius."

"Tell that to the army that's approaching when they ride, swords drawn, into a camp we haven't broken yet," muttered Hal.

"Good Lord," said Diana, trying to hoist one end of the rolled up tent. "This thing weighs a ton."

David ran up, his skin sheened with sweat. "This is down? Good. If you can load this into the fourth wagon-there-then all we've got is the bedding and carries, and we can get started."

Hal and Gwyn and Di hoisted the rolled up tent between them and lugged it over to the wagons. Cara tarried behind. "I certainly don't understand why actors must travel with so much luggage."

David grinned. "I hadn't noticed that you travel lightly, Doctor.''

Cara picked up the bundle of poles. "Have I ever told you how much I detest impertinent young men, David?"

"Many times. Here, I'll take those, and if you'll roll up that rug, we'll be finished here."

"You seem damned cheerful. Aren't you nervous? With battles looming in the near distance."

David shrugged as they began to walk. "I've never been scared of threats I can't see. It's a form of blindness, I suppose. It's why I went into engineering. It's all there, right in front of you. Yomi!" he called, diverted by the appearance of the Company stage manager. "I'll give you five minutes. Then we're going." Yomi nodded, and then, with characteristic efficiency, she rounded on the group that had gathered by Anahita and dispersed it ruthlessly.

David proved as good as his word. In five minutes, the first wagon jolted forward, and in succession, the rest followed its lead. David sat next to the driver of the lead wagon, and Cara, as usual, began the day by walking briskly alongside. Like all the drivers, this one was an elderly but hale jaran man who spoke no language but khush. Nevertheless, he and David had formed a friendly partnership, linked by a shared even temperament and, Cara suspected, the simple fact of both being male.

Cara walked for an hour. The grass was damp from rain, and the sun slipped in and out from behind the clouds, so that the cast of light over the land brightened and dulled by turns. Finally, she swung up into the back of the wagon as it trundled along at an even and unslacking pace. She had conceived the greatest respect for the beasts that drew it, thick-shouldered, bovine animals that could walk for hours without rest. This day they did not even pause at midday, but it was only mid-afternoon when a new rider, an older man whose blond hair was bleached white with age, galloped up from behind and spoke to the lead driver. Their course altered; within half an hour the little train snaked around a low rise and came to a halt by a swampy pond ringed by scrub trees and a scatter of dense bushes.

Cara climbed down and surveyed the terrain. Already the drivers unloaded the wagons with unseemly haste despite Anahita's shrieks of anger. First one wagon, then a second and third, and more, trundled out, leaving the party stranded by the pond.

"David," said Cara, "I think you'd better get all those tents up. And get-ah, there you are, M. Applegate."

"What in heaven's name is going on?" Yomi asked. She cast a disgusted glance back toward the handful of actors clustered around Anahita, and a puzzled one toward the stream of wagons heading away from them. "Are we being abandoned?"

Now others came up to join the discussion: Joanna Singh, Rajiv, Maggie, and Marco. The actors had by now split into two groups: those milling around Anahita, and those with Diana and Gwyn, who were already unrolling the Company tent.

Cara caught Marco's glance, and nodded. "We'll need all the tents up, fires, as many open fires as you can get going, and I want to start boiling water now."

"Oh, hell," said David, as if he had just figured out what was going on. "I'll do what I can, but I can't stand the sight of blood."

"Then we'll put you in charge of preparations," said Marco. "With Jo and Rajiv and Maggie. Start by gathering brush. Cara, will you need attendants?"

"You certainly, Marco. Anyone else who can stand it. The rest will have to fetch and carry." She watched as Anahita collapsed onto a chair set up for her by Hyacinth. "Or else stay out of the way."

David and Joanna and Rajiv and Maggie left.

"I beg your pardon, Dr. Hierakis," said Yomi. "But I'm still confused. What's going on?"

"We're about to receive the wounded."

"Ah," said Yomi. "From the battle. I'll go tell the actors. I'm sure they can help out." She left.

Cara sighed. "So blithely. She hasn't an inkling, Marco, of what we're about to see."

"They chose to come here. Now they have to face the consequences of that choice. If they can't endure it, let them go home."

Cara snorted. "You're not very compassionate today, are you, Marco?"

"I save my compassion for where it will do the most good. It's all very well to spout this nonsense about the universality of theater, but it's still nothing more than a holiday for them. We'll see how they like a dose of the painful truth."

"My, you're bitter today." But she followed his gaze and saw that he was looking toward Diana Brooke-Holt, watching her as she and Hal and Gwyn extended the poles and lifted the canvas weight of the Company tent. "Ah. Test of fire for the sweet young thing?"

Marco started, glanced at her swiftly, and grunted in annoyance as he turned on his heel and stalked away in the direction of the pond.

"Well!" Cara considered his back as he strode off toward David and Maggie, who were gathering brush. "What does that mean?" But Marco's affairs did not concern her now. She went to assemble her medical kit.