The Abulon Dance (24 page)

“Luan has disappeared,” Thar-von said quietly. “He may have been killed. We must get back to our quarters at once. It is too dangerous to wait any longer.”

“This is preposterous!” Beny exclaimed, shocked beyond belief. “Something must be done!”

“Not by us. Not now.”

“But we have to help our friends.”

“First we must be sure who they are,” Thar-von pointed out softly. “Come. The Kolaris will lead us through the tunnels.”

Xunanda joined them. “In the abandoned tunnels is a small rail car system. We can use that to transport you quickly and safely to the Central Complex.”

“But Eulio is so tired—” Beny began. He shook his head. At least he was still alive.

Thar-von cleared his throat. “If you wish, I will carry Eulio. If he would not object to such close contact,” he added quickly.

Beny smiled. “He’s a Merculian, Von. Of course he won’t mind. Besides, I don’t think he could make it on his own, and I couldn’t carry him far.”

“It is my pleasure.” Thar-von bowed formally and followed Beny to their room.

Eulio didn’t even wake up as Thar-von lifted him from the bed and carried him down the long winding stairs hidden between the thick walls of the building. Someone had lighted scores of torches in deference to the Merculians and it was easy to see the way. Triani and Cham walked hand in hand, Cham stumbling now and then, but refusing any help from those around him. No one said a word. Thanks to the boxes on wheels that served as a primitive transportation system, they arrived at the Merculian Festival office with surprising ease. The dusty winding tunnel came up outside the back door to Beny’s office. So this is how Akan got in without being seen, Beny thought to himself, looking around. And then he felt it. There was no sign of his visitor, but Beny knew he was still there. Waiting. Hastily Beny stumbled after the others, carefully closing his office door behind him.

When Eulio was once again asleep in his own bed, watched over by Dhakan and the giant dog, Beny went back to his office and looked around. For a few moments, he just stood there, listening, every fiber of his being intent. “I know you’re here,” he said at last. He went over to his desk. As he sat down, his foot touched flesh. Fear coursed through him.

“How could you tell? I just this minute arrived!” The First minister swept in without ceremony and threw himself down opposite him.

Beny froze. He felt a hand on his ankle and shuddered.

“Are you all right?”

Beny nodded, afraid to trust his voice.

Tquan looked exhausted. A wide piece of cloth bound his left forearm and there were scrapes and bruises on his face. “What a day! I find it hard to believe everything that has happened!”

“I am very sorry for your loss,” Beny said carefully, unsure what the proper formula would be here. “It is a bad time to switch leaders,” Tquan agreed. “But at least we have the man who did it in custody. A rogue android. Not surprising, I suppose. I came to make sure you were all right, Ambassador. We can’t have our honored guests put through any more.”

“As you can see, I am fine. But you—you are wounded?”

Tquan glanced at his bandaged arm and shrugged. “A flesh wound only. I regret that I was too far back in the procession to be in the direct line of fire. I tried—but the crush was too great.”

“I thought I saw you pushing forward.”

Tquan shrugged again. “But you, you are amazing,” he remarked. “The last time I saw you, you were being abducted by rogue androids. What happened?”

“Well, I did so want to see the procession,” Beny began, his voice shaking. “I should have paid more attention to your warning, I realize that now.” The First Minister merely grunted. “Anyway, I saw the Chief and then—honestly, I don’t know what exactly happened. The Serpian who was with me kept me from harm. He was…killed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but you
were
warned! You should have listened!”

“Well, yes, I know. But it seemed so safe—”

“Your Serpian companion found out just how safe it was!”

Beny swallowed painfully and blinked back tears. He clutched the arms of his chair tightly. The First Minister sprang to his feet. “I must go. There are a million things to attend to before the reins of power are once more in firm hands.”

“Luan will succeed his father?”

The First Minister look down at him and shook his head. “It saddens me to see the end of a great line of leaders, but it happens. I warned you about him, Excellency. Much as I loved him, he has always been a dark horse. Now he has shown his true colors, first running off with his rebel lover, then managing to get himself killed. In a way, that makes things much simpler.”

Beny swallowed. “Then it will be Quetzelan?”

The First Minister swung around and impaled Beny with a black stare that alarmed the Merculian. “And why would you think that?”

“Well, ah, I don’t know, exactly. I just thought…someone said—”

“Obviously you were mislead, Excellency.” He smiled, all easy charm again. “Rest assured that I will continue the Great Chief’s work with the Inter-Planetary Alliance. It will take some time for things to calm down again. Please be careful. Take my advice this time.”

“Thank you. I will.” Beny stood as his guest left the room. Then he collapsed back into the chair and activated the locks. For the first time, he looked under the desk. “You can come out now. It’s safe.”

Akan crawled out from his cramped hiding place and straightened up slowly. His face was ashen with strain. “Tquan is a teller of half-truths and outright lies,” he said. “He is the one who set up the assassination with Norh, and he planned to blame it on the Kolaris, as you just heard. He paid two Kolari marksmen to do it. But then Luan played right into his hands by going off with Marselind. It was a perfect set-up. Treason for love.” He winced and lowered his tall frame into a chair. Beny noticed the top joint of his fourth finger was missing.

“You are a Hunter?”

“Yes. Then I met Yonan and was won over by his ideas, his wonderful vision. But the more I stayed in the hills, the farther away it all seemed. Then dissension set in. Splinter groups formed. There was more and more killing that accomplished nothing. When I found out about the plot to kill the Chief, I knew the First Minister was behind it, working with Norh. He must have promised him the moon and the stars. All he will get is execution. So much for daring to dream without the gift.” Akan lapsed into silence.

Beny got up and poured drinks for them both. “I haven’t been much help so far,” he remarked, handing Akan a glass. “You made the effort. And you lost one of your men in the process.”

Beny nodded and took a long drink of the Merculian sherry. He was exhausted and it took all his concentration to keep the glass from shaking. “Is there any way to prove what you have told me?”

“If there were, I wouldn’t be here,” snapped his guest.

“You said there were two Kolaris involved. Tquan only mentioned one. Perhaps we can find the other one.”

“Just how do you propose to do that?”

“Marselind, perhaps, or Xunanda. There’s a network, if we can let them know about this.”

“Xunanda? I’ve heard about her.” The color had come back into his face at the thought of action. “Where can I find her?”

Beny tried to describe what he could remember of his journey through the crowds and tumult. Then he remembered the map. “I can give you a map,” he said, reaching into a drawer, “and a com device so we can communicate.”

“Why are you doing all this?”

“I owe it to Luan,” Beny said simply. “It’s the least I can do to honor his memory.”

TWENTY-THREE

The flames crackled and leapt against the brilliant hardness of the noon sky as thick ribbons of smoke spiraled lazily upwards. From the huge crowd surrounding the funeral pyre came a steady, low keening as the mourners swayed gently shoulder to shoulder, causing a ripple of motion. The tremendous heat from the flames had forced them back, leaving a wide, uneven circle around the towering pyre and the peculiar twisting metal stairway-like construction that snaked around and over it.

Beny stood with Thar-von in the front ranks of the crowd. The alien scene shimmered in front of him, made even more unreal by the heat, the roar of the fire, and the strange, sharp smell of the spices and incense burned as part of the ceremony. The very idea of a state funeral was alien to him. Back home on Merculian, saying goodbye to a loved one was a very private affair. Celebration on a grand scale was for life, not death, and a party would be held the following year on the date of a loved one’s birth. Beny realized that this would probably seem barbarous to these people. He looked around at the mourning crowd and wondered at this public outpouring of emotion. How much was mere ritual and how much genuine? Who, outside of the family, had really cared for the Chief? And yet everyone looked as if he had lost his best friend, even the hundreds of armed Imperial Hunters who mingled with the crowd.

Beny was the only Merculian there. He had insisted that the others stay inside for their own safety, in spite of reassurances from the First Minister that all was now under control. He would have liked to have Eulio beside him, but Eulio had flatly refused to get out of bed for any reason whatsoever, announcing firmly that his job was finished. His life was over. He wasn’t needed any more.

“But I need you!” cried Beny pleadingly. “Besides, the diagnosis is temporary trauma blindness, Eulio. This will pass.” But his lover turned away and buried his face in the pillow. Beny stared at the empty throne-like chair just visible through the smoke at one side of the circle. Luan should be sitting in that chair, Beny thought bitterly. Tears spilled down his cheeks. The boy had made a tremendous effort to help. He had kept his promise to bring Eulio back again, not quite sound but at least safe. And now there was no way Beny could repay his debt, except to try to get behind the lies and rumors spread by the First Minister’s broadcasts, the hypocritical sorrow behind the words that branded Luan a traitor. It wasn’t true! And with any luck, they would soon prove it! The marksman who had been taken into custody was dead, supposedly killed by another enraged prisoner before he could be properly interrogated. Now Beny had to count on Akan. The man had been in touch, but so far all he could report was that the other Kolari marksman was in hiding.

A high-pitched shriek jerked him back to the scene in front of him. Three Imperial Hunters rushed forward, holding short lances with decorated streamers of paper attached to the sharp end. With a blood-curdling yell, they leapt into the lower part of the fire and buried the points of their lances in the coals. At once, the paper caught fire as blue flames raced to devour it. Thin spirals of colored smoke curled upwards.

“They are sending good wishes to guide their Chief on his last journey,” explained the Hunter who stood beside Beny.

The Merculian nodded, incapable of speech. No sooner had he recovered, then the scene was repeated by another threesome—then another, and another, until the thin membranes of Beny’s ears were vibrating painfully from the noise and the stress of watching the young men endanger their lives so recklessly. He was beginning to see why the women were nowhere in sight. He had been told they remained wrapped in their red veils of mourning after participating in the Preparation Ceremonies. He wished he were with them. Thar-von’s navy blue eyes were following the ritual, but he was thinking about Talassa-ran Zox. He had ordered the flag of the Inter-Planetary Alliance to be lowered to half mast for his Serpian colleague but even this recognition had been taken away. Everyone would assume the flag honored the Great Chief. Talassa-ran’s entire life was the history of a man whose search for recognition always just missed the mark, a pattern which eventually lead to bitterness and vengeance. But he was not an evil man. At the end he had made the grand gesture of atonement and Thar-von was determined that he would go home to Serpianus with his honor intact. Beny had agreed to keep part of the story a secret, realizing that if Talassa-ran had not led Triani and Cham into the trap, there would have been another Merculian hostage. There was nothing to be gained by discrediting Thar-von’s countryman.

In front of him, Beny was swaying with fatigue. The gray and mauve uniform of the Merculian Diplomatic Corps had not been designed for such heat. Thar-von steadied him unobtrusively with a hand under one elbow.

Beny turned towards him and whispered wearily; “Will it ever end?”

“‘Even though the sun may shine on your neighbor’s corn field, the grain will also grow on your side of the fence’,” replied Thar-von, quoting an old Serpian proverb that he had always found comforting.

Beny smiled. “Somehow, I think it lost a lot in the translation,” he said.

An eruption of drumming made Beny snap his head back to the fire in time to see the First Minister step into the circle and draw the knife he always wore strapped against his left bicep. Another man appeared, holding what looked like a large white satin square, the corners embroidered with symbols. The drums stopped, just as suddenly as they had started. Tquan raised the knife above his head. The sun glanced off the glittering blade in bright shards of light that made Beny blink. Slowly, the knife was lowered again and with a long smooth gesture the man touched the razor-sharp tip to his bare chest, drawing it down from left to right, leaving a scarlet ribbon of blood in his flesh. As he repeated the gesture, he threw back his head and began the ululating cry of mourning that had been heard off and on throughout the ceremony. Beny felt his stomach heave unpleasantly. Once again he was thankful for the reassuring touch of Thar-von behind him. At his side, he sensed a sudden tenseness in his own personal Hunter-guard. Was this an unexpected development? He looked back at the First Minister in time to see him grab a lock of his long black hair and shear it off with the knife. He laid the hair on the white cloth, now sprinkled with his blood, and added a paring from his thumb nail. The Hunter beside him moved his hand to his long knife, just as a cry rang out in the smoke-laden air from the back of the crowd.