The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu) (21 page)

“And you, yes you, those standing,” she said, stomping one foot for emphasis. “Alright, we get it. Your vote recorded as soon as you stood. Now sit down.”

“With all due respect to each of you building Superiors, I must ask you to take your seats.” When they did not budge, Leader Sala continued with her planned suicide. “No one here has any clue as to why you are shielding Mistress Ann. She is a big girl now. She can take care of herself. Please take your seats or explain.”

Leader Sala could only watch as the four conversed silently. This area should have blocked any telepathy automatically. Guess not. No matter, they filed back to their seats.

Okay, now I will just plunge the knife into my throat.

“Mistress Ann, please remove the gag from your mouth. You look funny and it serves no purpose.”

She watched as Mistress Ann dropped her head and removed the bright blue scarf from her mouth. If she did not know better, she might have thought there was a ghost of a smile hidden behind a hasty wipe of that cloth.

Kimraig knew he had been foolish when it came to his silence with Breen. When all the information was in front of him, she could have reacted no other way. It is one thing to be a fool, and quite another to prove it in front of others.

Well, get it done.

He did not know how to apologize—never had—never considered the possibility. He had taken a grade “A,” number one stomping trying to stop the darts from killing her. He had climbed elevator shafts with broken ribs searching for her. It was his duty. No, he realized, it was a frantic search, because he had thought he had lost her. There it was. You were wrong about her, and it is a damn good thing that you admitted that fact.

Do something, before it is too late. Do it!

Kimraig pulled the chain between his manacles tight, so it would not rattle. He reached to touch her forearm and gently squeeze. He felt her warmth and let his hand rest lightly.

She did not respond.

Their sentencing quickly finished. Leader Breen was banished from Number 1 through 5 Buildings and assigned permanently to Number 6 Building. Breen’s name would be only Breen. She was forever stripped of her Leaders rank and even the building number following her name, which she had more than earned. She would control Number 6 Building without rank. The Wicca could and would send a Superior to replace her any time.

The Council punished Kimraig with exactly what he had wanted all this time, functional control without oversight, of Number 6 Building—One Nine. He had his building back. All he had to do was stay alive to get there, because there was one exception. He must finish the addition he had started on Number 4 Building. The Wicca Council would select his support personnel as need arose.

He refused. The assignment of personnel would be of his time and choosing or not at all. No one would control him. Besides, they needed him. In truth, they needed only his teams. They were well aware the teams worshipped him. They would not risk an uprising until construction ended.

The Wicca Council was in a quandary. They could expect no help from the Superiors. By standing in support of Mistress Ann, the other four had taken themselves out of any vote listed before the council.

Mistress Ann simply rose and walked out. She knew her influence inside the assembly would not support her prosecution.

Good move, they all knew the Council was loath to make decisions.

Each Building’s Council did not have enough support for the required two-thirds vote. Only the worst choice of all was open—compromise. Of course, with no experience with this concept, the Council gave Kimraig pretty-much what he wanted.

The Council had one victory. Not a single member was ready to cede any of their political power to a male, an Other, or any newcomer. The remedy was to delay the vote until the experiment of Number 6 Building bore fruit. That might take hundreds of years. Who knew what would happen.

Kimraig knew. They would start their revolution with violence on a scale that only those who had experienced the wars fifty years earlier with Mistress Ann, would know what to expect. They, his people, were past using grace to accept any offer that was short of their goals. There would be no concessions. They were ready to fight. They were too close to stop now.

Chapter 9. Just Breen

Early the next morning, he awoke in defense mode. Instantly awake, every instinct surveying and sifting information in quick glances at his surroundings. Small room, comfortable couches assembled from the best there was to offer in the Builders limited environment. Wrists, free of manacles, chaffed skin aching. In some places, partially healed gouges from the first sets that held him on the original trip to One Nine, reminded him of their presence.

The hard-back chair painfully etched its sharp impression into his back, hips and thighs and a million damaged muscles. His chair was propped a hands length from the wall at the far end of the room. This gave his back protection and offered an unobstructed view of the entry door set directly to the front of him. It appeared to be the only access from the hallway, unless these bare walls masked hidden portals. He would not put that past the Wicca.

Kimraig did not relax; he redirected his attention to the chunk of dead cement where his right arm had been. Isometric exercises, willing muscles back to life without moving his fingers from Breen’s warmth.

The long night was behind them, with only uncertainty remaining for today. He felt Breen move under the light touch of his fingers and he realized she had been awake watching him.

“We are alive,” she whispered, easing her body slightly on the long bench he had fashioned as a pallet for her.

“For now, at least” he said. “I cannot imagine they would just send me, us, back to One Nine and turn us loose. I would send us on a quick trip to the roof. Accidents happen all the time in construction areas.”

Weary of tightening his grip, he gently added a slight increase of pressure to her hand. Her small warm fingers squeezed back.

He supported her head and neck with one large hand and arm and lifted her slightly. The other held a small metal cup, which he held to her lips. “Water, take just a few sips at first.”

When the small cup was empty, he gently laid her back on the bench.

“Leader Breen, we should prepare. The Council Guards will come soon.”

He glanced toward the door as he added.

“Your twins are guarding us.”

“Have you talked to them?”

“No, they have been ordered to stay clear.”

Kimraig paused before he continued. “I was thinking we should just stay calm, and wait.”

He removed his hand from her arm, clenched his fist, placed it under his chin and rested his elbow on his opposing wrist—his posture, one of contemplation.

She was too groggy to understand, she thought he might be playing a game. He did not like to wait. He was almost never calm. Most of all he spent little time thinking...
Of course, thinking was the key.

Memory filled her, of those long days before her teen years. She remembered a tattered book and well-worn pictures of something called “art.” None of the girls could understand why anyone would bother. One picture they understood, a nude male sitting with chin on fist starring at nothing: the bronze statue,
The Thinker.

Oh, how they had made fools of themselves bragging about their non-existent exploits. The young males had stripped, comparing their puny bodies to that statue. Much to their surprise, the older Kimraig had taken part in the playtime. He had posed just like the statue, but with his shorts on. In that one second, each young girl’s hearts began to throb.

She knew what he looked like now...better than that picture. Who could have thought that in four short years he would father her twins in the Mating Ritual?

Leader Breen closed her eyes and began the mental probing of telepathy. First, she would check Kimraig.

Took you long enough, check with your sons at the door. I tried without success.

She resisted the temptation to probe deeper, looking for thoughts of her. What are you doing, he is not part of your plan for the future.

She tried Cullen first, no luck. He had protected himself with the electronic screen installed in his helmet. Curtis, as always, would be impossible to read even though she sensed his helmet was under his arm.

Please mother, a little respect.

Curtis was probing her, gently, since she demanded her thoughts remain private.

All the Building Superiors are probing as one, in a concentrated effort to penetrate our mind blocks.

How did you deflect their probes?
Breen asked.

I fought hard, then let them slowly in,
Curtis responded.
When I had them trapped, I immersed them totally in the lurid details of Brody-1 and I at play on her sleeping mat. They could not resist. The Sergeant At Arms is on her way to collect you two. She is not alone.

He broke contact and put on his helmet.

So like her youngest son, taking risks just because he could. So like his father who sat holding her hand, lending his strength just because he could. He may not accept them, her sons; there was no concept of father in the Builder system, or mother, only the nine-month incubation period and children raised by a wet nurse.

“We should clean ourselves just in case they come for us.” Leader Breen was all business now. The thoughts of yesterday buried again.

“I have cleaned both of us,” he said, avoiding the accusation of her one raised eyebrow. “Your wounds needed more care then the field medics could provide.”

“You washed me all over without my consent?” Breen asked.

“You would have said yes,” Kimraig replied without the slightest expression.

“Did you find anything interesting?”

“There are many females here in the buildings with their own reproductive organs as well as additional male organs. You have not changed since we first met. This is part of us as a race. It makes no difference to me.”

“For a twice dishonored ex-Hunter, you are pretty sure of yourself,” Breen replied.

“Not really. When it comes to how I feel about you, I am just muddling through. Pain is an old friend, but this is a new kind of torment. At times, I am not sure I want to continue. But when I quit thinking of you, there is no relief.” Kimraig took a deep breath, willing himself to continue. “Give me some time, I will work this out.”

Kimraig had not thought of Char like that in days. Would he ever think of her again?

Breen looked away.

The door burst open and banged against the wall as troops rushed in. Kimraig was their target, and they quickly tried to force him up. After two had pulled themselves up from the floor, their leader wisely explained her orders and asked him to accompany them.

“Looks like a one way trip to the roof,” he said laughing as he followed them out the door.

It seemed like hours before the Sergeant at Arms came for her as well. It was actually no more than minutes before Breen found herself escorted to the door of a basement holding room. Her escort did not wait for her to enter, but turned around and headed back to the Council Chambers. Breen smiled and turned to the door as it opened.

“Please come in Mistress—I mean Breen,” Leader Sala said as she closed the door. “Allow me to remove your handcuffs. Of course, they must go back on for our trip back to Number 6 Building. Yes, I will accompany...”

“You are babbling, Leader Sala.”

Breen spun around to face what she thought was an empty room. Mistress Ann sat, almost hidden, in a huge, comfortable chair with what appeared to be wings. The color of her robes—indigo blue—blending into the material so completely that you would have to know where she was sitting to pick her out with a quick glance.

“Please sit, both of you.” Mistress Ann nodded with her chin toward a couch of the same color placed at an angle across from her.

They each took a seat, Breen smiled. “That went well don’t you think?”

“Yes quite well. Does Kimraig suspect anything other than his conviction was a foregone conclusion?”

“No. He is too busy being in love for the first time.” Breen did not smile because she had not dealt with the inner turmoil that leading him along had caused her. There would be time later.

“Did you find Hunter Yates to your liking?” Mistress Ann’s smirk asked an unspoken question.

“He will be adequate for the few needs I have. He is as excellent orator and a diplomat. The same qualities Kimraig lacks.” Breen chose not to discuss her intimate moments with Yates—there had been none. Instead, she reached out to smooth Leader Sala’s hair and run her knuckles along the suddenly bunched neck muscles from ear to shoulder.

You look lovely in that shade of blush, little one.

Breen’s lightning fast probe had caught her lover unprepared.

She thought for a moment and continued. “To answer truthfully, he will do for the short term only. I will have no need of him once he has dealt with the Crossers delegation in Number 6 Building.”