The Price of Conquest

Minutes after the three th'Maran left with Emre, four armed Patrolmen arrived at the room where Kressa and the others were being held. They bound the prisoners' hands with security cuffs, and then escorted them out of the ship and through a series of nondescript corridors to a small subway station where two male th'Maran joined them.

From there, a tram took them underground to another station where they rode a lift to a set of plain blue-gray hallways. After a short walk through several identical passages, their escort showed them into a large chamber. The Patrolmen removed the security cuffs, and then they and the th'Maran left the prisoners alone.

A single long table sat in the middle of the rectangular chamber, surrounded by ten chairs. A three-meter square entrance foyer jutted from the center of one of the long walls. Five short hallways opened through the opposite wall, each leading into a small apartment with its own bed and washroom.

The fixtures in the rooms had been designed for mental operation, similar to those Kressa had encountered aboard the th'Maran Enforcer ship, but manual controls had been added to everything except the main entrance. Clearly, humans were expected. But the th'Maran were taking no chances; no amount of concentration or willful cursing enabled Kressa to open the main door with her mind.

Tired after her fruitless attempts to get past the barrier, she went into the sleeping chamber she had chosen for herself. Cody followed her, his face pale, and Kressa realized it had taken until now for the gravity of their situation to sink in.

She gave the boy an optimistic smile, hoping it looked more genuine than it felt, and surveyed their monotonous gray surroundings.

"These th'Maran don't seem very interested in interior design," she commented in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Cody stood silently watching her, chewing a corner of his lower lip.

She felt a sudden pang of guilt. "Look, Cody, I'm really sorry I got you into this."

He gave a nonchalant shrug that almost looked convincing. "It was my call. Never break the Pack."

"Sure, but you didn't have to—"

The sound of the main door opening interrupted her, and she hurried from the room with Cody close behind her. B'Okhaim and Tyler stepped from their rooms as she entered the main chamber.

Four th'Maran waited inside the foyer.

Kressa stepped around the table toward them, and then paused to scan the room. Something had changed; it took her a moment to realize what it was.

When she and the others first arrived, the room had been a plain, undecorated expanse of gray. Now a subtle play of light and color covered the walls and ceiling. Gentle tones, almost music, kept time to the strange, shifting colors, playing more in Kressa's mind than her ears.

Cody, B'Okhaim, and Tyler had moved around the table, as well. She glanced at them, but their attention was on the th'Maran, apparently oblivious to the lights and sounds.

The room's new ornamentation must be psi related, she realized, but whether the show had been triggered by the arrival of the th'Maran or her mind opened to it by their presence, she did not know.

Three of the newcomers possessed the robes and powerful mental auras of the Triad that had come to the ship for Emre, and Kressa thought they might be the same three. They watched her, their expressions hard and suspicious, their stances tense.

Uncomfortable with the threesome's intense scrutiny, she shifted her attention to the fourth th'Maran.

His deeply lined face showed the only signs of advanced age Kressa had seen on any of his race. Mentally, she sensed little about him save for a raw power that eclipsed the Triad's strength and dulled the odd patterns of light and sound around him.

Tall yet slight of build, he had thin white hair and intense gray eyes. He wore a robe of flowing silver, its hem and cuffs picked out in an intricate pattern of alternating shades of light and dark gray. The power that rose around him caused the garment to glow in Kressa's mental sense.

"You are humans of the Free Worlds," he said, his voice slow and thickly accented.

Tyler scowled.

The elder th'Maran spent a long moment looking over each of them, then he took a step closer to Kressa. "This one has a strong mind for a human. What are you called?"

"Kressa Bryant." She detected his feather-light probe on her mind and knew this was the th'Maran leader. "You are the L'Aron Om?"

He nodded, a barely perceptible tip of his head.

She stepped toward him, but the Triad brushed her mind with a compelling warning to keep her distance, and she halted after only a couple of steps.

"I'm afraid we bring bad news, sir," she said to the L'Aron Om. "Your people are being killed by the rulers of the United Galaxy. You have to call them back."

She expected any reaction from the elder th'Maran save for the calm indifference he turned on her.

"I am sorry for them," he said quietly. "It is a pity some must die."

"What?!" She stepped toward him again, but the Triad's warning touch on her mind grew to an almost physical assault, and she danced back. "Didn't you hear what I said? Your people are being murdered!"

"It has always been a possibility that sacrifices might have to be made." The L'Aron Om bowed his head in a manner Kressa found absurdly theatrical. "If some are dying, it is because they turned from their purpose. All is happening as it should. You are here."

He looked straight into Kressa's eyes, and she knew that his last statement did not include her companions.

"The Om-Mar has requested the presence of a human," the L'Aron Om continued with a sweeping gesture of one arm. "You will be that human." He gazed at Kressa again. "The Om-Mar shall judge you. Then we will know how to proceed."

Kressa frowned. Despite the L'Aron Om's outward show of piety, something about his words and actions rang false, as if he were staging his behavior, not only for her and the other humans, but for his th'Maran companions as well.

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"What if I refuse this judgment?" she asked.

"You cannot." Again his eyes met hers, and a blanket of compliance settled over her.

She raised her mental defenses and struggled to force away the detached feeling of lethargy.

As she fought against the L'Aron Om's vastly superior mind, the colors in the room blazed to new brightness and the accompanying sounds rang louder, as if fed by the energy of the mental battle.

Kressa reached out with her mind and tapped into the power. Her shields strengthened. Yet even bolstered by the strange phenomenon, her defenses could not prevent the L'Aron Om from holding her rapt and probing the deepest recesses of her mind.

After a long moment, he released her. The lights returned to their original subtle glow, and the sounds calmed.

"You are what is needed," the L'Aron Om said, his eyes still locked on Kressa's. "The Om-Mar will be—"

The mental lights limning the room winked out for a moment.

The L'Aron Om's skin paled to ash-white, and he glanced at his three companions. Their expressions registered varying degrees of shock and amazed wonder, and they gazed around the room.

The elder th'Maran looked at the humans again, and the color slowly returned to his features. "What have your people done? The gate is gone."

"The gate…?" With a start, Kressa realized what must have happened. The Patrol had allowed enough time for the transport to drop off its prisoners and return through the gate, and then they destroyed it. She refused to consider what that might mean for the th'Maran who remained on the other side, or for herself and her companions here on Marasyn.

"I tried to tell you," she said to the L'Aron Om. "The United Galaxy was only using your people. They destroyed the gate because they have no further need for them. Admiral Gaunis will kill them all."

The L'Aron Om appeared thoughtful for a moment, and then waved a hand as if brushing away a bothersome insect. "It is no matter. You will be judged, and then we shall proceed as the Om-Mar instructs." He nodded to his companions, and the four turned as one.

"Wait!" Kressa said. "Listen to me!" She stepped after them, but something seized her limbs, holding her immobile.

The colors in the room flared anew.

"Listen, damn you!" She struggled against the invisible bonds. "Don't you care that your people are dying? That they'll be slaughtered by the very people they were sent to help?!"

The L'Aron Om stepped from the room. The Triad followed, and the door slid shut.

Instantly, Kressa was free. She staggered back from the door, and the flare of light and sound dimmed around her. Snarling, she shoved away her wonder at the phenomenon.

"Damned fool!" she spat. "Doesn't he care what's happening to his people?"

Tyler sneered and shook his head. "Give it up, Kressa." He stepped toward her.

She spun to face him, eager for something upon which to vent her frustration.

"That was a nice speech," he continued, "but the man's obviously not going to listen to you."

"Watch it, Tyler," B'Okhaim warned.

"Back off, B'Okhaim." Tyler did not take his eyes from Kressa. "You, too, Cody. This is between me and… the lady." He took another step forward. "Why don't you make all of our lives easier, Kressa, and lay off our host?"

Kressa ground her teeth, hating the familiarity with which he used her first name.

He stepped up before her, eyes still locked on hers, and started to reach for her.

She backhanded him hard.

He staggered away with a grunt of surprise, licked blood from the corner of his mouth, and dropped into a fighting stance.

"All right, Bryant," he growled, "you want me for that knife I stuck in your back? Here I am."

Kressa lunged, only to be brought up short by B'Okhaim's strong grip.

He pulled her tight against him. "Don't let him get to you, Kressa. He's looking for an excuse to kill you."

"Ditto!" she snarled and met Tyler's eyes. Then she realized the futility of their contest; this would be a pointless way for either of them to die.

She drew a deep, calming breath and used her mind to slow the furious staccato beating of her heart. Around her, the color and sound flared in a reaction that fed her psi abilities, as well as fed from them. She concentrated on the lights and relaxed further.

"All right." She stopped struggling against B'Okhaim's hold, but kept a wary eye on Tyler. "He's not worth my trouble anyway." She shrugged from the big man's grasp and started toward her room.

The strange lights faded around her.

* * *

Kressa lay on the bed in the darkened room and stared at the featureless gray ceiling, unable to sleep, her mind churning with questions she couldn't answer and fears she couldn't quell.

When they first met, Saunorel had told her that the th'Maran homeworld was so far from the worlds of the United Galaxy that her people had needed to use a gate to get there. The full meaning of that hadn't registered until Kressa learned that the gate had been destroyed. Even then, she had refused to consider the consequences.

But now, as she lay alone in the dim room, the others having gone to their own chambers to sleep, she could think of little else.

What would happen to her and the other humans here on Marasyn now that the gate was gone? And what of the th'Maran left on the other side?

Sooner or later, the Guard would discover that the Patrol had destroyed the gate. If they were then able to find the location of Marasyn, could they send the Stingray?

Just how far from known space was Marasyn? And how far could the Teneian ship's drive safely take the vessel? Certainly Jonathan would be willing to give it a try if it wasn't too dangerous, to help the th'Maran get back to their homeworld, if for no other reason.

Kressa's chest tightened as she recalled Jonathan's last words to her, before he gave her a quick kiss and left Halav's office: "I'm only going to Vsuna. Two days there, two back. Less with the IT drive."

Two days…

How long had it actually been? A week? More? And how long would it be until—

She cut the thought short and forced herself back to the present, to the dim-lit room, to her featureless surroundings, to her need for sleep.

But the questions—and the fears—remained.

Surely what she had told the L'Aron Om would eventually sink in and he would want to rescue his people. Then he would have another gate built, wouldn't he?

She couldn't be sure.

Her initial reaction to the th'Maran as a people had left her with the impression of peaceful wisdom, beyond any acts of rebellion or violence. Yet Saunorel, Ciroen, and the th'Maran she had met on Arecia—hell, even Emre—had chosen to rebel against the so-called th'Maran purpose in one way or another.

Would the L'Aron Om be willing to do the same, or would he continue to follow the orders of the Om-Mar?

And just who or what was the Om-Mar? Saunorel had called it the 'creator' of the th'Maran, but what did she mean by that? And why did it want to judge a human?

Clearly, the L'Aron Om had chosen Kressa for that judgment due to her psi abilities, but was that what the Om-Mar was going to judge her for? If so, why? What would happen if she didn't pass its judgment? What if she did?

And when would the judgment take place?

Her thoughts drifted to Jonathan again, to the chance that he might be able to find Marasyn, bring the Stingray.

She hoped, if that happened, he would be in time.