The Price of Conquest

Kressa fought her way to full wakefulness, but instinct and the dull ache that encompassed her body warned her to feign unconsciousness until she could remember what had happened and figure out where she was.

The memories returned slowly, first of the raid on the weapon transports, then her and Cody's attempt to escape up the mountain road. After that came a dim recollection of several Patrolmen, a flight off Arecia, and a stark white medical lab or sickbay filled with shining equipment, Patrol guards, and the smell of sterile air. A medic treated her, and then administered a drug that sent her plunging into a dark, memoryless void.

Her final recollection was a moment of total, sharp clarity. Only dimly aware that she was still in some sort of sickbay yet completely certain that something out of the ordinary had awakened her, she squinted at her bright surroundings.

Her father stood beside the bed on which she lay, his dark, eerily familiar eyes studying her. She remained amazingly calm, perhaps a result of the drugs in her system, and thought casually that the admiral looked much older than the sixty-odd years he could claim. The ease with which she accepted his presence, combined with the strange mixture of triumph and defeat on his haggard features, eclipsed any further details of the brief encounter.

The next thing she remembered was waking up here, wherever here was.

She turned her attention outward.

During her occasional bouts of drifting awareness, she'd gone over what she thought were all of her possible fates. She would wake up on Arecia, safe and with friends, or she would awaken on the Esprit (depressing thought), or she would wake up dead, if that were possible.

She expected any of those things, with their dozens of variations and convolutions, but she did not expect the sound that now reached her ears: the deep voice of Thellan B'Okhaim. The meaning of his words did not make it through the blurring fog in her head, but she recognized the voice.

Another male voice replied to B'Okhaim.

She thought she recognized it, too, but hoped it was only a trick of her clouded mind.

Aware of only one sure way to calm her fears, she opened her eyes, but the sudden brightness flared into an incredible headache, and she closed them again.

Once the throbbing in her head subsided, she cracked her eyelids open a mere slit.

The pain slammed home again.

She raised a hand to her forehead and felt a tender lump. What other damage had she sustained?

Cautiously moving each part of her body, she assured herself that, except for an underlying soreness, everything felt in working order.

She tried opening her eyes a third time, but the headache remained. Still, vision was only one of her senses. She took a deep breath and concentrated on her physical surroundings.

The air held the familiar tingle of a hyperdrive field and the familiar odor of a recycled atmosphere.

She lay on her back on a flat, slightly giving surface, probably little more than a thin pad. Not uncomfortable, but no place she wanted to spend more time than necessary.

Questing fingers told her the pad rested on something cool and smooth that extended as far as she could reach. A metal floor, perhaps?

The dull throb of a stardrive reverberated through it, its distant thrum muffled by the voices.

Okay, she thought, voices next.

"What good will that do?" the second voice she'd heard earlier asked.

"Maybe none, but we shouldn't assume they're planning to hurt us," B'Okhaim said. "They might even be helpful."

"He's right," a third voice that sounded suspiciously like Cody chimed in. "The th'Maran on Arecia helped us against the Patrol."

Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Kressa erected a loose mental barrier around the pain in her head, steeled herself in case the barrier did not hold, opened her eyes, and carefully rolled onto her side.

"Cody? B'Okhaim?" Her voice came out much weaker than she expected.

"Bryant!" B'Okhaim exclaimed. "How's your head?"

She squinted across the bright room. "Sore, but I don't think there's any permanent damage."

She eased into a sitting position, trying to ignore the discomfort that seeped from behind her mental shield and blurred her vision. She peered around the large room.

It looked like the passenger hold of a midsize personnel carrier. Everything had been removed from the chamber except for a handful of thin pads and what appeared to be a pile of blankets in a far corner. A door on the nearest wall opened into a washroom.

Three figures sat on the floor in the center of the chamber. Kressa recognized B'Okhaim's bulky frame and decided the wiry figure beside him must be Cody. Hopefully, the vague familiarity of the third figure was just a trick of her still blurry vision.

"How long have I been out?" She tried to focus on the group. The room was pulsing in and out in perfect rhythm with the slow pounding in her head.

"It's been at least twelve hours since we were transferred from the Esprit," B'Okhaim said.

"Transferred from the Esprit?" she asked. "Where the hell are we?"

"Welcome aboard the Marasyn express," the disturbingly familiar voice that spoke earlier said. "You can thank your father for the free ticket."

She blinked the last of the blur from her vision and scowled. "Tyler."

He smiled at her from across the room.

She returned the cold grin. "How does it feel to be on the other side of the law, you bastard?"

"Not bad." He cocked his head and ran his gaze over her body. "After all, I've got you to keep me company."

She returned his scrutiny. Except for slightly leaner features and a more calculating look in his mahogany eyes, Devin Tyler looked much as she remembered him; far more eye-catching than a man in his profession had any right to be.

She shoved away the memories that tried to worm their way into her consciousness, climbed to her feet, and walked slowly toward the group. It was difficult to hide the ache in her skull and the stiffness of her limbs, but she refused to show any weakness in front of Tyler.

Stupid pride, she silently reprimanded herself.

Cody gave her a weak smile as she approached. A white bandage above his left eye stood out starkly against his dark skin, and a fading bruise purpled his cheek. Other than that, he appeared to be in good health, if not good spirits.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. "Thanks for coming back for me."

His smile brightened. "Never break the Pack."

She returned his smile, surprised by the delight that shivered through her upon hearing the credo of the Wolfpack, the San Francisco gang they had both run with. Those four simple words meant so many things to her, and undoubtedly to Cody as well; in this instance: Never leave a fellow Pack member behind.

She gave him a solemn nod. "Never break the Pack," she said quietly, and then glanced around. "So, is this all of us?" she asked.

"All except her." B'Okhaim nodded behind him.

Kressa followed his gesture to the far corner where what she thought was a pile of blankets turned out to be a lone female figure huddled on one of the sleeping pads.

She lay with her back to the room, but her irregular breathing suggested she was awake and listening. Long pewter hair spread about her shoulders, its metallic color fading to near white at the ends.

"She's th'Maran," Kressa said, surprised. "What's she here for?"

B'Okhaim shrugged. "She won't talk to any of us. Maybe you can get through to her."

"I'll see what I can do." She crossed the room, knelt beside the woman, and touched her arm.

The woman did not move.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Jhal." Kressa whispered the th'Maran word Saunorel had used for "friend."

The woman turned her head. Lifeless gray eyes peered from beneath a tangle of silver hair.

Kressa gave her an encouraging smile. "My name's Kressa. Who are you?"

The woman sat up slowly, staring at her. "I am Emre."

Kressa met her gaze, certain she'd heard the woman's name before.

Emre's brow furrowed, then her eyes widened. Kressa brushed a strand of silver hair from the woman's forehead. Unbidden, an image of Saunorel flashed into Kressa's mind, and Emre gasped.

Kressa stared at her, aware the th'Maran had touched her mind and shared her vision of Saunorel.

"You know Saunorel?" Emre asked, her eyes suddenly full of life. "Is she well?"

"She's fine," Kressa said. "She's on Arecia."

"I helped her escape from Eminence," Emre said. "She helped a human woman… You!"

Kressa studied the th'Maran. So this was her father's lover. Suddenly, she wanted to know more about her.

"Tell me what happened, Emre."

"I was an engineer on the Esprit and as'jhal to Admiral Shaw. Richard…" Her voice faltered, and a pained look pinched her pale features.

"Damn him." Kressa's chest tightened in anger, and she gave Emre a sympathetic look. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Hurt me?" Emre asked, clearly appalled by Kressa's accusation. "No, not Richard. He was good to me. He tried to protect me when Gaunis took my people, but he had to listen to his L'Aro—his commander." She stared at Kressa, her brow furrowed. "Why do you look at me like that?"

Kressa took a deep, unsteady breath. "Richard Shaw is my father."

Emre continued to stare at her. "Your… father?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Afraid…? But he is a good man."

Kressa looked away, unsure how to respond.

* * *

Kressa sat alone in a corner of the room. Hours had passed since she'd awakened on what she now knew to be a Patrol transport on its way to deliver them to Marasyn, the homeworld of the th'Maran.

She'd spent most of that time lost in natural sleep, allowing her body to heal. Her rest had been interrupted only once when three armed Patrolmen brought food. They refused to answer any questions during their brief visit, giving no insight into what the future might hold.

Now, concerns about that future had begun to plague her.

After all the time and trouble Shaw went through trying to apprehend her, why send her to Marasyn once he succeeded? And why send the others? Except for Tyler, they all liked th'Maran, even respected them. Was that why they'd been sent?

She shook her head in consternation. She'd been down this same path a half dozen times, to no avail.

She leaned her head against the wall behind her and concentrated on the gentle vibration of the ship's drive. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the quiet hum was the Conquest's engines…

Don't! She opened her eyes.

B'Okhaim stood before her. "You wanna talk?"

"Sure."

He settled down on the floor beside her. "Well?"

Kressa ran a hand through her hair, using the movement to hide a smile. Leave it to Thellan B'Okhaim to start a conversation with an eye on gathering information rather than giving it.

She started to speak, but then hesitated. The Patrol was almost certainly monitoring them; she needed to be careful about what she said.

She glanced to where Emre lay curled on her mat. The th'Maran had grown quiet after their brief talk, and nothing anyone had tried could rouse her again.

Tyler stepped from the washroom, made a quick survey of the room, and moved toward where Cody was napping against the opposite wall.

Kressa made a sour face. "What's Tyler doing here?"

B'Okhaim followed her gaze. "From what I've been able to gather, he was arrested for an assassination attempt on one of Shaw's advisors."

"Assassination?" she said, surprised. Had Tyler been the person who tried to kill Terling? "Somehow, among all his faults, I never saw Tyler as a stinger."

"You do what you can get paid for, I guess."

"He does," she said, her voice filled with scorn. "But why would he work against the Patrol? I thought they were on the same side."

"He wasn't working against the Patrol," B'Okhaim said. "He was working against Shaw. Apparently they had some sort of falling out. Tyler wanted to get even, and Gaunis gave him the chance."

"Gaunis hired him? Why would Shaw send him to Marasyn?" Kressa shook her head, bewildered. Did something await them on Marasyn that Shaw would consider a fitting punishment for the man who tried to kill his friend?

"Why send any of us?" B'Okhaim interrupted her worrisome thought.

Kressa sighed. "Good question."

"I don't suppose word of Gaunis's attack on the Arecian temples has reached Marasyn," B'Okhaim said. "The th'Maran probably think they're still allies with the United Galaxy. Maybe they are. I'm not making any guesses."

Kressa's insides lurched gently. "Well, we just reentered normal space. Hopefully, our questions will be answered soon."

B'Okhaim started to reply, then laid a hand on Kressa's arm. He nodded toward Emre.

The th'Maran was sitting up, alert and watchful.

"What's with her?" he asked.

"I'll see what I can find out."

It took Kressa nearly a minute of quiet, soothing talk to break through to Emre. When the th'Maran woman finally looked at her, she did so with a start.

"Emre, what's wrong?" Kressa asked.

Emre gazed around the room, her silver eyes wide. "The gate…" she breathed.

The universe did an abrupt back flip, and dim blue flashes filled Kressa's vision, accompanied by the sound of rushing water and the taste of salt. Even seated, she felt the need to grab for support, and memories of the transfers on board the Stingray came to mind. After a long moment, the disorienting sensations stopped.

"What was that?" she asked.

"The gate," Emre said again, her voice a reverent whisper. "We are at Marasyn."

Kressa remembered Saunorel had said something about a gate. "What is the gate?"

"It is our passage to the humans. The Om-Mar helped us create it. We took the fralsha through it to find the humans and unite with them."

"What is the Om-Mar?" Kressa asked, hoping to get a more revealing answer from Emre than she had from Saunorel. "Why does it want us to unite?"

Emre looked at Kressa as if she were a young child seeking answers to questions so obvious they need never be asked. "It is our purpose."

Kressa sighed in exasperation. "What do you mean, your purpose? Why are you supposed to unite with us? What will happen when you do?"

"I…" Emre paused and glanced away, her expression troubled. "I do not know," she said quietly. When she looked at Kressa again, her anxious expression remained.

"Does anyone know?" Kressa asked, wondering if any th'Maran had ever thought to question their so-called purpose.

Emre did not answer. She sat frozen beside Kressa, staring at nothing. A moment later, the ship's braking thrusters fired, and the vessel began to vibrate as atmosphere roared against the hull.

Emre gasped. "We are landing on Marasyn!"

"What's wrong with that?" Kressa asked, confused by the th'Maran's reaction to the seemingly expected event.

"I have not been on Marasyn in so long…" she whispered, her gaze still focused far beyond Kressa. "Not since I was a young woman."

"Why?"

"I was exiled," Emre said. "Since that time, I have lived and worked on the fralsha."

"Why were you exiled?"

Emre turned her head slowly and met Kressa's eyes. "I was a member of a shorom, what your people call a Triad. Then came the time for my sasho'ra, the time when a th'Maran woman is tested by the Om-Mar for her worthiness to bear children."

"You're not allowed to have children unless you pass a test?" Kressa asked.

"It is our way."

"But—" Kressa stopped herself. An argument over cultural traditions would get her nowhere. "Did you pass the test?"

Emre shook her head sadly, then her expression hardened. "Yet I was part of a shorom! The Om-Mar must have been mistaken. Then I became pregnant, and I knew the Om-Mar had been wrong, for many who pass sasho'ra are never able to conceive."

She paused and drew a deep breath, then went on, her voice and features calm again. "I thought our leader, the L'Aron Om, would be pleased that I was to bear a child. There are so few children born anymore, and so few of my people left…"

"When the L'Aron Om discovered my pregnancy," Emre continued after a brief pause, "he had the child destroyed before it could be born and exiled me to the fralsha. It was a terrible disgrace to Shella and Nari, my shorom partners."

Emre looked away, one slender hand resting on her belly as if in remembrance of her lost child.

"What happened to your partners?" Kressa asked.

"I do not know. I think they stayed with the L'Aron Om, but—" She glanced at the door with a gasp. "A shorom comes for me!"

The door slid open, and three male th'Maran stepped into the room. They wore gray robes reminiscent of those worn by the th'Maran priests on Arecia, but made of finer material and decorated with three diagonal slashes of darker fabric across the breast. They looked no different from the other th'Maran Kressa had seen, but even from this distance she could feel the potential of their combined power tingling against her awareness.

They looked past her and the other humans as if they did not exist. One raised a hand and beckoned to Emre. The th'Maran woman stood and crossed to where they waited, her head bowed. They touched her hands, their long fingers just brushing her flesh. Emre followed them from the room, and the door closed behind them.

"What was that all about?" B'Okhaim asked.

Eyes locked on the door, Kressa shrugged and shook her head.