Women of War (28 page)

“Fool, you have no idea of the weapon you have given me,” she said with ice in her voice.

The Mitalsan laughed and threw the metal from her hands at Ree-Lin, who was horrified to find she was seeing a dozen drops of striling hurtling toward her. Horror turned to desperation as she felt several of the droplets burn her skin and sink into her flesh. Her vision began to cloud, but she could see Jerio behind the assassin and the child Misa coming at her from one side. The child threw the bowl of sand and salt into the assassin's eyes. The fake fore-teller screamed with pain. Jerio took the cuff she purchased for her sister and clamped it onto the exposed ankle of the assassin.

The assassin was frantic to defend herself against her new assailants and to get the cuff off of her leg. She went down to the ground and crashed into the table. Jerio threw one of the tapestries from the wall over the desperate woman and sat on her as she wailed and fought.

Ree-Lin felt her strength give away and knew she would not survive the poisoning, but felt relief that Jerio was killing the assailant by smothering her. She could hear the muffled screams grow fainter and then felt the cool hands of Misa on her own face as she lost consciousness.

The Geiko was surprised to find herself waking in the care room of a healers' home. It was dark outside and she could see a soft light flickering against the ceiling.

Where is Jerio?
she thought, and then spoke the question when she realized she had not asked the question out loud.

A healer in tan robes leaned over her and spoke quietly, “She is here and safe; I will get her for you.”

The healer left her view and Ree-Lin felt a moment of relief before her curiosity overwhelmed her.

What happened? I feel odd, weak but whole. How did I get here?
She clenched her hands and feet to confirm and then tried to get up. Tiredness flowed through her and she abandoned the attempt. Jerio then came into her view.

“You look terrible,” she said as she held her Geiko's hand.

Ree-Lin smiled, “You look great.”

Jerio leaned forward to hug her in a burst of emotion. “Oh Ree-Lin, I was so worried, you have been asleep for three days and Misa was never sure she got all the poison out ...”

Ree-Lin interrupted her. “Misa? The child in the tent?”

“Yes ... yes, she told me that her mistress, Alima, was vulnerable to gelden. She wanted no metal at the table because when a Mitalsan is actively absorbing metals she cannot control which metals might be melded into an item.”

The Geiko was confused; this was not something she had heard before.

Jerio continued, “Misa is skilled in the same metal transforming qualities; she was an apprentice to Alima.”

“She is a Mitalsan?”

“She was an apprentice. Alima purchased her from a slaver a few months ago when the child's skill was discovered. Misa hated Alima, but knows her talents would earn her a death sentence if she ran away.”

Ree-Lin knew this was true; an apprentice to an assassin would be bound by the code of the assassin's guild. “Where is she now?”

“I have her safely under guard at home. I am hoping you will take her on as an apprentice Geiko; her skills in metallurgy include the art to pull the poison out of a victim. She will be very useful if anyone is poisoned in the future.”

“She took the poison out of me?”

“Yes, and she told me how Salthi's cuff would poison Alima. I put it on her and it sank through her skin like the striling earlobe decoration she wore for poison,” she replied with a noticeable tremor in her voice.

“Jerio, are you okay?” Ree-Lin asked as she squeezed her hand weakly.

“I will be. Her death must have been extremely painful and I ... I have never killed anyone before,” she replied as tears began to stream down her face.

The Geiko pulled her little sister closer, “The first time is the hardest; I will not lie to you. It doesn't get better, but it never feels as bad as the first time.”

Jerio cried a minute longer and then pulled back. She took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed away the tears. It took her a minute to compose herself.

She will be fine, but the innocence will never return. I will have to be sure I am available for all the questions she will ask,
Ree-Lin thought.

“Ree-Lin, I have decided to pursue the arts of the bodyguard.”

This took the Geiko by surprise, “Are you sure, little sister, perhaps you are—”

Jerio interrupted, “I am sure. The contract on your life will not be over, and now Misa and I will be affected by it too. I want this guild of assassins eliminated,” she said as she straightened up.

Jerio continued, “I will not allow my family ... or my province to be terrorized by a society that cares only about profit and a misguided sense of honor. And no one is going to change my mind. I won't let them harm you ... or my family ... or me ... I won't let them harm anyone.”

Ree-Lin considered this for a moment. “I believe you.”

Jerio sobbed once more, but gained hold of her emotions and then leaned into Ree-Lin with a hearty hug. She sat on the edge of her bed and held her hand then said, “When can we get started?”

“Whenever you are ready, little sister.”

“I am ready.” Jerio replied with solemn dignity.

Yes, you definitely are,
the Geiko thought with pride.

SHAARA ITOSU sipped from her glass of bourbon, growing more impatient by the minute as she studied the constant stream of officers and civilian contractors making their way through the entrance of Café Mas Mundos. Outwardly calm, she ran one hand over her shaved scalp, and then folding her hands on the table before her, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

A delay of a minute or two, even unintentionally, was poor manners. To be five minutes late was extremely rude, yet even that could be forgiven if the offered apology were sufficiently abject. But to keep someone waiting for an hour, especially someone of her rank and status, could only be considered a dire and deliberate insult.

Itosu felt a presence near her shoulder, smelled the mixtures of beer and liquor and sweat mingled with breath mints, heard the gentle clink as a fresh bourbon was placed on the table before her. “Sobre la casa, Commander.”

Itosu didn't open her eyes. She knew the proprietor's scents as well as she knew his voice and recognized the easy tread of his squeaky shoes over the noisy din. “Thank you, Pablo,” she answered. “You'll go broke the way you supply me with drinks.”

“Drinks I can afford,” he said in a low whisper. “Remodeling is expensive.”

Itosu allowed a brief smile as she listened to Pablo's retreat. His comment bordered on impoliteness, and yet the subtle brazenness of it amused her.

A heavier, booted tread drew her attention. The conflicting odors of starch, cologne, anti-perspirants, and breath fresheners assaulted her senses. The chair opposite hers scraped on the floor as someone sat down. Her table lurched. The bourbon splashed over the rim of her glass.

“You are Itosu?”

Two insults. It was bad enough to be so late, but to neglect her rank as well required a response. Itosu opened her eyes, betraying no emotion as she studied the Tindaran officer who addressed her. He was tall, powerfully muscled beneath his crisp gray uniform. He might once have been handsome, but his face seemed frozen in a permanent sneer. He leaned forward on the table, sloshing her drink again, as he interlaced his fingers.

“I've heard much about you,” he continued. “You're something of a legend. ...”

Rising from her seat, Itosu drew her sword, and in one smooth, lightning-swift motion she severed the newcomer's hands from his wrists. With a modest flourish, she flicked the droplets of blood from her steel, resheathed the blade, and sat back down.

Pablo appeared at the tableside. With a towel he swept the hands onto a tray and made a curt bow. “Qué es su gusto, Caballero?” he said to the Tindaran with practiced aplomb.

The Tindaran stared gape-mouthed at the stumps of flesh sticking out of his sleeves. A red pool spread over the tabletop, smeared somewhat by Pablo's towel. Yet already the flow of blood was stopping, and the wounds were beginning to seal. With a controlled sigh, he looked up at the proprietor. “Brandy,” he ordered. “With a straw, please.”

Pablo rolled his eyes as he shouldered the tray and walked back to his bar.
“Please,”
he muttered with barely concealed exasperation. “Now el hombre remembers his manners.”

The Tindaran lifted his arms to study his wounds. “My compliments, Commander,” he said. “A very clean cut. Swift, too. I didn't even see the stroke.”

Itosu rose without a word, repositioned her sheathed sword on her hip, and left the table. She felt the wary gazes of the bar's patrons on her as she lifted her head and strode out of Café Mas Mundos and into the corridor beyond.

The corridors of Station Ymanja were bare steel polished just brightly enough to cast back distorted reflections of the constant shuffle of people moving through the passages. Most passed by with downcast eyes, unwilling to risk offense with a direct gaze. No one spoke.

Always alert, Itosu watched their hands, noting the weapons that every officer, technician, and civilian carried. An armed society was a polite society, but it was a suspicious and dangerous one, too, especially in times of war.

And especially on a diplomatic station like Ymanja where Humans and Tindarans mixed and mingled and struggled to sort out their differences.

The thin carpet muffled her footsteps as she stepped into an officers' lift and ascended to level seven, which was reserved for diplomats and upper ranks. As commander of the dreadnought
Katana
, she rated. Itosu brushed her hand over the bio-recognition lock. The door slid open and then closed behind her as she entered.

Her quarters were spartan. That was the way she preferred them. No chairs. Only a thin futon upon which to sleep. A small, delicately carved table held an artful floral arrangement.

The centerpiece of the room was a low teakwood altar. A golden Buddha sat in the center, and before it a shallow bowl of sand with a few polished pebbles. Some sticks of unlit incense stood on either side of the altar. Other quarters on Ymanja provided more amenities and were more lavish, but these suited her and offered a sometimes-welcome change from her quarters aboard the
Katana
.

Placing her sword upon her altar, Itosu slipped out of her uniform, folded it neatly, and set it aside. Naked, she knelt down before the Buddha and exhaled a soft breath. She clapped her hands once, and the incense sticks began to smoke. Then she closed her eyes.

Mokuso
. A period of meditation. A time to order one's thoughts, to consider patterns of behavior, and to calm the heart. Each morning, Itosu began her day before her altar, and each evening she ended her day the same way.

Yet tonight the still mind eluded her. Drawing a deeper breath she strove to set aside her doubts, her many concerns. Her
fears
. There was a word she didn't use often. Shaara Itosu feared almost nothing.

Almost.

Opening her eyes briefly, she met the placid gaze of the Buddha.
Guide me,
she prayed.
Help me to see the rightness of my path
. The incense rose, filling her quarters with the scent of jasmine. Turning her palms up, she studied her hands, the fine criss-crossing lines, the strong fingers. Then, taking another breath, she closed her eyes again.

In her unstill mind, she saw more hands. A tray full of hands. Tindaran hands.

A soft chime sounded, alerting her that someone stood outside her door. Itosu's lips drew into a taut line, and her brows pinched together as she rose. Disappearing into a side room, she emerged again in a short kimono of red silk. Retrieving her sheathed blade, she went to the door.

She spoke in a quiet voice to the flat surface. “Reveal.”

The door emitted a faint glow, and a holographic image appeared before her. The Tindaran with a pair of bodyguards. “Open,” she said. The hologram vanished, and the door slid back.

Crossing his wrists, the Tindaran bowed deeply. Already his hands had begun to grow back. Thin tendrils of flesh would soon become fingers. Straightening, he glanced at Itosu's sword, then brazenly into her eyes.

He grinned. “I hope, Commander, that I've paid my pound of flesh?”

Her response was icy. “I didn't weigh them to be sure.”

“Commander, I politely request an audience,” he said with a slight incline of his head. “I feel that our previous meeting was ...” He hesitated, and then his eyes lit up with a twinkle. “Cut short.”

Itosu struggled to control the emotions that surged inside her. Her hand trembled on her sword, and she fought the urge to lick her dry lips. His bodyguards watched her, one with an expression of distrust, the other with open animosity. Both kept their hands too close to their holstered laser guns.