Traveler had acceded to Zabb’s request and had even joined in the spirit of the plot and improved on the original plan. It was a real bummer that this most cowardly of Trips’s “friends” was forming a bond with this most charming of enemies. Now, with the elaborate pin delivered to Onyze’s suite, Mark just had to wait for the other shoe to drop – for Zabb to kill the kid.
Given that Zabb had tried to destroy Mark’s home planet, it was sort of jarring to be working with him. But goddamn, Zabb could be charming, and he’d certainly thrown his support behind the Doc’s bid to regain his throne and his body. Like early in the evening. Zabb had arrived, taken a look at Tis’s outfit, and vanished again. When he returned, he was carrying a pair of elaborate hair combs that appeared to be cut out of solid emeralds.
“They’re mine,” he explained. “They wouldn’t have suited your coloring in your former guise. In your current one they suit you very well.”
And Mark realized that with their pale, almost white blond hair, Tisianne in her borrowed body and Zabb looked very much alike. Tis was wearing the combs now, the hair caught up over each ear.
Remembering the combs set another synapse firing, and Mark began to worry again about Jay. Ever since the detective’s return with the Doc, he had been sullenly silent, and the lines about his mouth were driven deeper as if he were holding back some raging anger. Trips had probed and had his nose bitten off and spit back at him. All Ackroyd would say was, “Ask our little princess,” in a tone so bitter that it sent Mark’s stomach scurrying for cover against the back of his spine. He hadn’t asked Tisianne – she had enough to deal with, and there was a haunted look in her eyes that made the peaceful, gentle ace want to hit someone as if that could somehow transfer the pain she was feeling.
Zabb slid into the chair beside Mark, slipped an arm through his. I guess we’re buddies now, thought Mark.
“I think we’re in very good shape,” Zabb whispered into Mark’s ear.
Mark nodded, tried to unobtrusively pull his arm free. Just an uptight American, he thought. I can’t get used to all this touching, especially between men.
“I mean, after all, they can’t deny she’s Tisianne.”
“So what happens? They say she’s the Doc, and then she’s ruler of the House?”
“Not quite, they will wait to be advised.”
“As to whether the consensus in the House is to make her Raiyis?”
“Yes.”
“You’re making this sound almost like a democracy.” That laugh like a wolfs yip. “Not hardly. Basically it’s a precaution to make certain the choice isn’t so unpopular that we end up with a family blood feast.”
“That’s coming anyway,” Trips said, depressed and tortured with guilt over Traveler’s involvement in a planned murder.
“You’re far too pessimistic.” Zabb gave Mark an encouraging buffet on the shoulder. Then his attention was drawn to something telepathic that was transpiring on the dais.
The oldest of the old crones folded her hands carefully on the table before her and bowed her head as if in deep and profound thought.
Lifting her head, she began, “Distaffs and sword sides, stirpes and domestics.” It was audible speech, and her focus was over the heads of the nobility, and on the servants clustered about the back wall. “Before we come to the matter before us, it is my sad duty to inform you of the death of the Raiyis.”
A murmur moved like a moaning wind through the crowd, and Mark whipped his head around so hard to stare at Tisianne that he thought he’d snapped his neck. The Doc stood perfectly still, and the blankness of her expression was the giveaway.
“My God, now he’s got to live with that too,” Mark murmured, in his distress losing control of his pronouns.
“Life on your planet has finally given Tis a spine. I’m impressed. I didn’t think she could do it,” Zabb said. His voice redolent with satisfaction, he added, “And it certainly caught Egyon on the hop. That he did not expect out of us.”
The old lady was continuing. “Tell your families, and honor Shaklan with your grief. The city and House will observe three days of mourning beginning tomorrow… May his spirit draw near and guide us.”
“May we do honor for him,” came the litanous response from the assembly.
Briskly the old lady said, “So we dispense with the dead and resume our march to the future.” The sharp old eyes were bent again on Tisianne. “It is clear you are Tisianne, however altered. Welcome home.”
“Thank you,” Tis said, bowing as deeply as her pregnancy would permit.
“On the issue of your elevation this council will convene at midnight and hear the decision of the swords. In the meantime, Taj, you will continue to serve as regent.” The old man rose and bowed, crossed to Tisianne, tucked her arm beneath his, and led her toward the door. The meeting was obviously over.
Mark stood, relieved to have his six-foot-four-inch frame out of a chair designed for midgets, and grabbed convulsively for his briefcase.
“What the hell is a sword?” Jay asked.
“The male head of each distinct breeding line within the family,” Zabb explained.
The crowd eddied about them. Little conversation knots formed and broke, servants threw open doors, accepted a pair of gloves from a passing master, and continued smiling, always smiling. Mark wondered if the Tarhiji were really that happy, or just terrified.
“There are women here,” said Jay suddenly.
“Yes,” Zabb answered,
“And not just the old broads and servants.” Mark winced.
Zabb chuckled. “Yes, so?”
“So where’s the harem?”
“Rarrana is not included in the tour… Unless you’d like to alter your plumbing in exchange for a peek?”
“No thanks, but how come these -”
“They’re sterilized. We don’t keep women in seclusion because they’re women. We keep them there because they’re breeding.”
Zabb swung a chair around with his foot and straddled it. Pulled out the Takisian equivalent of a cigarette case and offered it. Both humans declined. Zabb shrugged, placed the cigarette between his lips, and a servant seemed to come boiling up from beneath a chair to light it.
“Assassination attempts are rarely directed at men. We just settle for them because they’re usually all we can reach, and it’s a convenient way to vent spleen. No, pregnant females are the preferred target. Kill one, and you’ve ruined hundreds of years of careful genetic planning.”
“Gee, the girls must be really touched to know they’re so important.”
“We do value our women,” Zabb said, stung by the sarcasm in the detective’s voice.
“Yeah, as brood mares.”
“Do you ever get to marry for love?” Mark asked.
“We marry for power, we breed for posterity, we love… only rarely.”
“Great culture you got here,” Jay grunted.
They were settled in Tisianne’s old suite. Servants were still arriving with arm-loads of stored furniture, paintings, a computer, musical instruments, holostage. There was at least a lull in the politicking. Tis was slumped on the window seat, staring up at the moonlit glacier crawling like a frozen waterfall over the edge of the cliff. Taj had just entered, and she was giving him her profile.
Coldly she said, “I see you didn’t see fit to preserve my room.”
“I was extremely annoyed with you,” was the unfazed reply. “And as for your father’s office – we went back a lot of years. Also, I was maintaining the illusion he was going to get well someday.”
Tis drew a hand across her forehead. “I’m sorry. Irritability seems to be the domain of pregnant women. Is Skatt coming?”
“On his way.”
“What approach do I take with him? Ideal,” she pushed back her hair, stood, and began to pace. “I don’t know any of these swords. Half of them were children when I was here.”