gaian consortium 06 - zhore deception Read online

  “The what?” she interrupted, still too shaken to prevent herself from breaking into his narrative, even though she knew interruptions annoyed him.

  But apparently he was still pleased with himself over the whole shoulder-massage incident, since he replied in mild enough tones, “The Zhore are very focused on horticulture, on sustainable living spaces. Even in their cities — which are far less dense than ours, because of their lower population — every rooftop, every balcony, has its own garden. As far as we can tell, the local government has its own agency to oversee those gardens and make sure that they’re functioning at full capacity. Anyway, it’s in that division where you’ll be placed. People seem to come and go more or less at will, taking what they call ‘leaves’ from time to time as it suits them.”

  That sounded very odd to Trinity. At least, no one she’d ever known had just walked away from a decent-paying job. They were difficult to get, and living on Gaia was expensive. She asked, “And no one will ask any questions about why I’m suddenly working there, out of the blue?”

  “It’s always a possibility, but our analysis of the Zhore so far shows them to be a trusting people, not given to suspicion. Maybe something to do with their empathic traits — if they can sense the emotions of those around them, then it’s far more difficult to pretend, to dissemble.”

  To lie. Trinity knotted her fingers together. She supposed that Gabriel Brant and his superiors were relying on her psychic abilities to keep her out of trouble; if the language conditioning did its job, she’d be able to read the Zhores’ thoughts easily enough, and could ask for an immediate extraction if her cover was penetrated somehow. And although what she knew about gardening could fit into her bathroom sink, at least working with plants and flowers didn’t sound too scary. It could have been worse.

  “So I go and work on these arcospheres, or whatever you call them,” she said. “And…what? Just spy on everything I see?”

  “You, Trinity, will have to do very little, except maintain the façade that you’re merely a worker like hundreds of others. You’ll have a device implanted that sees everything you see, hears everything you hear. The device will transmit all that data back to our operatives, who will analyze it.”

  “As easy as that?” she asked. Just being a passive data collector didn’t sound too difficult, at least once you got past the whole infiltrating an alien society thing.

  Gabriel turned away from the window and watched her for a few seconds. No, he wasn’t exactly smiling, but something in that cool regard made the hairs on the back of her neck want to stand right up. “Well, there is one more thing….”

  Of course there was. She lifted her chin and matched him stare for stare. “And what might that be?”

  “We’re very curious as to what the offspring of a human/Zhore pairing would be like, which traits it would inherit from each parent.” Now her handler did smile, a lift at the corners of his mouth that was as empty and soulless as the grimace of a shark. “We want you, Trinity, to locate a compatible Zhore male and mate with him, then return to us so we can study the resulting pregnancy and subsequent birth.”

  * * *

  Zhandar wasn’t sure why Rozhara would request his presence at another counseling session so soon after the last one — it had been less than a week — but he dutifully went to her offices at the third hour of the afternoon after informing Leizha that he would most likely be gone for the rest of the day. She hadn’t asked any questions, for which he was grateful. The last thing he wanted to do was admit that his once-weekly counseling appointment no longer appeared to be sufficient in his counselor’s eyes. The appointments were something he hadn’t bothered to hide from his assistant, although he knew the rest of his staff was so far unaware of his destination when he left every third-day at the eleventh hour of the morning.

  When he entered Rozhara’s office, he was startled to see someone else there. A man, judging by his height and the breadth of his shoulders. Not quite as tall as Zhandar himself, but tall enough that they would have been able to look into one another’s eyes…if either of them would ever be mad enough to indulge such a breach of protocol.

  “Zhandar,” said Rozhara. “This is Jalzhin. He is with the Ministry of Health Services.”

  Anxiety bubbled within Zhandar, but he pressed his hands together and bowed, giving the ancient gesture of respect. “Your presence honors me.”

  “As yours does me,” Jalzhin replied.

  Custom satisfied, Zhandar crossed his arms and transferred his gaze to Rozhara, whose head was slightly bowed. Although she was too well-mannered to broadcast anything of what she was feeling, he could tell that she was not overly thrilled by the intrusion of this Jalzhin, whatever his reasons might be.

  But because she was a forthright person, and not one to hesitate even in uncomfortable situations, she said briskly, “Zhandar, you know I must submit reports to the Ministry as to the progress of my patients. No particulars, of course, nothing that would identify any of you individually. However — ”

  “However,” Jalzhin broke in, “there were enough details in your case that it was not difficult to ascertain who it was that had suffered such a tragedy in the recent past. My condolences.”

  “My thanks,” Zhandar said stiffly. He already didn’t like the tenor of this interview, although nothing unpleasant had yet been spoken. Then again, Jalzhin’s presence here was enough to send flickers of unease down Zhandar’s spine. Agents of the Ministry of Health did not, as a rule, make social calls.

  “We find it somewhat troubling that there does not seem to be any particular progress in your case.”

  “Indeed?”

  Despite the ice in Zhandar’s tone, Jalzhin appeared unfazed. Voice smooth and unruffled, he went on, “We all understand that one does not recover from such a loss overnight. But it is time that you thought of Zhoraan.”

  “I…what?” Zhandar swiveled his head toward Rozhara. Now her gloved fingers were knotted together, a sure sign of her distress. In fact, even though she usually was more than capable of blanking away most of her emotions so they would not trouble those around her, or interfere with her sessions, now he could feel the agitation flowing out from her, coupled with an awkwardness at having to be present during this conversation at all.

  “You cannot be unaware of the crisis that faces us all.”

  “Of course I’m not unaware! That is precisely why Elzhair lost her life — attempting in her own way to stave off our ruin. But she is gone, and our child with her. What else do you expect of me?”

  Jalzhin did not flinch, even in the face of so embarrassing an outburst. “We expect you to do your duty by Zhoraan. You have shown yourself capable of fathering a child. There are many of your generation who cannot even do that. It is time for you to look past your grief, and try again.”

  This was impossible. If he had not been here, listening to Jalzhin’s outrageously inappropriate suggestions, he would have thought someone was playing a very cruel joke. As it was….

  “I believe I have had enough of this conversation,” Zhandar said, and began to turn toward the door.

  But Jalzhin’s voice stopped him. “Perhaps you have, but I have not. I will say the things that must be said, and you will stay and listen to them.”

  Never in his life had Zhandar been spoken to in such a manner. This was not the way of his people; all was politeness, all was courtesy and grace. At least in conversations among strangers. Other emotions, darker things, could swim beneath the surface in intimate discourse, but never would they be allowed to rise to a point where they could be seen.

  Until now, apparently.

  Jaw clenched, he slowly shifted back toward the agent of the Ministry. “I doubt very much that I will want to hear what you have to say.”

  “Perhaps not.” Beneath his heavy robes, Jalzhin’s shoulders lifted. “But when the very future of our planet is at stake, we cannot afford to maintain the niceties that have served us for so long.” He paused, and
for the first time Zhandar could sense a hint of uncertainty in the other man’s manner. “As soon as our scientists and statisticians began to note the decline in our population, we began to conduct secret research, work that we did not want to share with the general population for fear of creating, if not a panic, then at least an ever-increasing fear that our way of life may be coming to an end.”

  It is coming to an end, Zhandar thought bitterly. Even if no one has the courage to admit it.

  He did not speak those words aloud, however. Instead, he asked, “Am I to assume this work has something to do with me?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Some of the confidence seemed to have returned to Jalzhin as he continued, “For uncounted millennia, we have relied upon the concept of sayara to bring our people together. And for all that time, it served us well. Unlike the other sentient races of the galaxy, we have no acrimony in our marriages. Divorce was an alien concept until we moved into the wider galaxy and witnessed such practices among the Gaians and the Eridanis.”

  The agent of the Ministry paused then, as if expecting Zhandar to comment. But he had nothing to contribute. He had heard of such things, yes, but he was not a member of the diplomatic corps. He had seen no need to study the alien races of the galaxy in any depth. His life was here on Zhoraan…a life he had expected to share with Elzhair until it was their time to move from this world into the next. It had mattered very little to him that the Gaians or the Eridanis — and, for all he knew, the Stacians as well — could not count on that sort of permanence in their relationships.

  Jalzhin seemed to gather himself and plunge ahead, since Zhandar had not spoken, and Rozhara appeared content to be a silent witness to their conversation. Perhaps she had insisted on remaining, rather than allow her counselee to be left alone with a Ministry official.

  “But the concept of sayara is failing us now. Indeed, it is sayara itself that causes some of the problem, for in some cases it seems to circumvent the very act of conception, rather than aid it. Because of that, we can no longer rely solely on the elusiveness of that emotional bond to dictate who we pair with, who we can conceive our children with. We must put it aside and focus on the practical.”

  This was — it was beyond blasphemy. It was a negation of everything the Zhore held dear. To lie down with a woman who did not share the sayara bond with him? He had heard the Gaians practiced such things, removing completely from the equation of conception any sort of emotional intimacy. He had merely thought it another of their oddities. Certainly he had never considered that he might one day be put in a similar situation.

  “And so you expect me to be…what, exactly? A stud who will service as many females as necessary, like a bull rezhar?”

  Rozhara winced at the harsh words. Jalzhin, however, did not flinch. But his counselor’s voice was calm enough as she said,

  “That sounds quite dreadful, Zhandar, and far worse than what Jalzhin actually intends. Please let him speak.”

  The agent from the Ministry tugged at his robes, making a minute adjustment that wasn’t necessary. “I believe the process will not be nearly as painful as you anticipate. As I had begun to tell you, our scientists have been working on what you might refer to as an acceptable alternative.”

  “‘Acceptable alternative’?” Zhandar repeated, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. “I wasn’t aware there was a way you could find an alternative to the need to have an all-encompassing emotional connection to someone.”

  Perhaps Jalzhin smiled within his hood. Of course Zhandar couldn’t see the other man’s face, but something about his stance seemed to alter subtly, as if he was pleased by Zhandar’s remark, even though he hadn’t intended it to be anything other than sarcastic.

  “What you, Zhandar, see as a sort of mystical bond — what all our people see as such a thing — is in reality only a series of chemical reactions within the brain and body. After much study, we were able to successfully replicate those reactions in the laboratory. We now have the means to artificially create the sayara bond.”

  This was getting worse and worse. So that was all his connection to Elzhair had ever been — chemicals and pheromones, and nothing more? Zhandar refused to believe that. He would not believe that.

  “And so you think you will administer this drug to me, and present me with a woman who has taken the same drug, and we will bond immediately and produce many children for Zhoraan?”

  “That is rather a callous way to phrase it,” Jalzhin replied. “But yes, in so many words.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  Rozhara shook her head, saying, “I know how difficult this must be to hear, Zhandar, how it challenges beliefs you’ve held all your life. But you must look past your pain. Do you want Zhoraan to dwindle into the dark, to become nothing? We have not sought to make the galaxy ours, not the way the Gaians have, but at the same time, we have a stake in its future. I would like to believe that we make it a better place by being among its citizens. All that will go away — not in our generation, perhaps, or even the one after it. But that day will come if we do not do something. If I were still of an age to bear children, I would be offering myself. But that time is past for me. It is not, however, past for you.”

  For just the briefest second, right before she tamped it down immediately, Zhandar could feel a pulse of emotion coming from Rozhara — frustration, regret. And laid over all that, annoyance with him, for what she saw as his selfishness. In that moment, he wondered whether she had done a bit more than simply submitting reports about him, and had actually put his name forward as a promising candidate for Jalzhin’s insane program.

  That suspicion only made anger flare in him, so he pushed it away for now as being unproductive. Instead, he had to ask himself, was he being selfish? He had only thought he was honoring Elzhair’s memory by being so steadfast to her. After all, it was very uncommon for those among his people to create a second sayara bond, if fate or misfortune took one’s first life partner away.

  And now Jalzhin was saying that such a bond could be created with a simple shot, or pill, or implant, or whichever delivery system they’d devised to administer their drug. How many subjects had they tested it on? Enough to be certain that it worked, or Jalzhin would never have come here with his ridiculous proposals.

  Or perhaps not so ridiculous. Zhoraan faced a grim future. If he, Zhandar, could do something to stave off the darkness, was it not his responsibility to take on the task, no matter how repugnant it might seem to him at the moment?

  And he had so very much looked forward to being a father….

  Well, there wasn’t much of a question after all, was there?

  “Very well,” he said heavily. “Tell me what I must do.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bile rose in the back of Trinity’s throat, but she forced herself to swallow. “I’ve had my shots,” she told Gabriel Brant, referring to the quarterly birth control shots every woman on Gaia began to receive as soon as she turned fourteen. True, there were a few precocious types who still managed to find themselves pregnant before then, but the incidence of unplanned conception was still very low.

  His smile didn’t falter. “They can be neutralized with a series of counter-shots. That will not be a problem.”

  She’d had a feeling her stratagem wouldn’t buy her much, especially since she herself was the result of her mother using those very same counter-shots, but she’d still had to try, just in case. Time for another angle. “And maybe I’m not even fertile.”

  “Oh, you are,” he replied smoothly. “Your latest physical indicated that you were in perfect health, including reproductive.”

  Of course they’d pulled her medical records. Why had she been expecting anything different? Gabriel and the people he worked for probably knew more about her than she herself did, right down to her scores on the standardized tests she’d taken back in primary school. She’d been a good student. And that was before her powers even began to manifest. No, that hadn�
��t happened until she was twelve. Once she’d understood what was happening to her, she realized she could tap into anyone’s mind to get the answers to test questions, to see what their take on the latest essay assignment was…anything at all, really.

  But she hadn’t. She told herself that she’d done well in school before this strange ability to read minds had developed, and she wasn’t going to turn into a cheat. Back then, she hadn’t been entirely certain that the whole thing wouldn’t simply go away, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. Relying on this new talent to get ahead in school hadn’t seemed very smart.

  However, the powers hadn’t gone away. They’d turned out to be as much her as the color of her eyes or the shape of her mouth. And ever since she’d been wrestling with them — how to use them, whether she should tell anyone besides her mother. At least, for all Acantha Knox’s problems, she’d never tried to exploit her daughter’s talents, had in fact almost looked frightened and told Trinity that she had to be careful, that she could never reveal that secret to anyone else. And she never had…not until Caleb.

  That hadn’t gone so well.

  Not that this little session was going so great, either. She swallowed again. “So, all right. I get pregnant and have a half-Zhore baby. What then?”

  “We’ll study it, of course.”

  Of course. “You won’t — you won’t hurt it?”

  The shark smile returned. “Developing maternal instincts, Trinity?”

  “I don’t know about maternal, but I do know about basic human decency,” she retorted. “This child — if I even have it — will be half mine as well.”

  “Not really. Handing the child over to us will be a condition of your release.”

  She already disliked him, but in that moment, hatred flared in her, a raging fire of loathing burning in her belly. It would be better to go to Titan than suffer through this. How could it be any worse to be some guard’s plaything than it would to be forced to have sex with an alien, bear his child, and have that child taken away to become someone’s science experiment?