"I don't think it matters that much," Dana said. "Alanna first, if I
have to pick one. If their chief won't help, just keep going until we
find one who will."
"A good choice." The w'woman dialed the bedside phone, obviously a
familiar combination, then spoke to the warrior who answered in High
War Speech. Dana could understand only an occasional word of that
variant of Classical Russian, though she could read and write it
fluently; all she could gather was that the w'woman was asking for the
Alanna.
A few moments later, a man wearing the arms of Alanna's chief appeared
on the screen, introducing himself as Killian. The w'woman started to
speak, but before she'd said more than a few words, Killian frowned and
interrupted with a question. She answered with a "Da, Glavniy," then
there was a brief conversation Killian closed with a decisive
statement. The w'woman stepped aside, and Dana found herself
confronting the image of a stern-faced clan-chief.
He let her wait a few seconds, then spoke in Imperial English. "The
lady Arden tells me that your thakur has dismissed you and that you
require a clan-chief's aid to atone."
"Yes, Chief, to both." Dana turned her face so he could see the raw
spot on her cheek, and raised her cast-enclosed arms. "As you can
see."
"The lady Arden mentioned extenuating circumstances."
Dana hesitated, but she had spent so long trying to be Sandeman in all
but body that her response was more by reflex than by thought. "I
claim none, Alanna," she said formally. "Custom says none exist."
"True." Killian's expression became remote, almost frightening. "Very
well, I accept the responsibility of acting for the clan-chief you do
not have. Alanna warriors will be there as soon as I can contact ones
nearby, and they will bring you to our clanhome. You will be treated
as befits the oathbreaker your thakur's actions proclaim you; if you do
not understand what that means, ask the lady Arden. I will see you in
approximately six hours."
Six hours, Dana thought as Killian's image disappeared. That meant she
might live seven or eight, depending on how badly the beating had
weakened her.
"Do you understand?" Arden asked.
Dana turned to the w'woman, fear growing as her shock faded. "What's
in the text-tapes, yes. Not the details of the . . . execution."
"Those can vary; they depend on the clan-chief." Arden looked almost
sympathetic, Dana thought. "You know, then, that you will receive no
more pain medication, that no one will speak to you unnecessarily, and
that when your escort arrives you will be placed under restraint."
"Yes." The restraints were a formality, especially in her case--a sign
of condemnation, like the silent treatment--but the lack of medication
would have her uncomfortable, at least, even before the execution
began.
"Chief Killian has granted one concession, since you were hurt before
your thakur dismissed you. If you wish, I can give you a stimulant to
compensate for your injuries."
Dana thought about that offer briefly before she spoke. "Let me try to
stand and walk. I'll take the stimulant if I can't."
"Reasonable." Arden moved to help as Dana sat up and swung her legs
over the edge of the bed. That brought on a wave of dizziness, and
when she cautiously slid off the bed, her knees gave way. Arden caught
her and helped her back onto the bed.
"It looks like I'd better take it," Dana said shakily. She hadn't
realized she was so weak--it wouldn't do at all for her escort to have
to carry her! "A strong dose, please."
"A twelve-hour dose, as strong as you can tolerate," Arden agreed.
"Are you allergic to energine?"
"No, that'll be fine." Dana would have refused such a dose if she'd
expected to have to go through the aftereffects; energine would keep
you going through almost anything, but you paid the price later--and
she was also on rapid-heal, which made demands of its own. But both
would be academic in a few hours. She watched Arden prepare an
injector, her thoughts going to what would be happening to her shortly.
She didn't know the details, no, but she was fully aware that it would
be at least as painful as the attack--and more humiliating, because she
cared about the Sandemans' opinions as she hadn't about the attackers'.
Arden gave her the injection, then said, "It will take effect in a few
minutes, and once it does, I will also have to start treating you as an
oathbreaker. However, I told the Alanna that there was more to this
than appears on the surface, and he has agreed to contact Torrance for
the interrogation reports, then watch a copy of the monitor tapes from
here that I will send with his warriors. That will probably have no
effect, but this is an unprecedented situation; it could make a
difference." She hesitated, then went on in a low voice. "I break
custom by saying this, but I don't think you dishonored. I pray the
gods will grant you a swift death, then rebirth as a warrior-caste
Sandeman to you can earn a place in their ranks." Then she turned
away, leaving the room before Dana could frame a reply.
As the energine took effect and her strength returned, Dana clung to
Arden's words. They meant there was still a trace of hope for
her . . . if Clan-chief Killian agreed with the lady Arden.
But that trace of hope wasn't all good; it was easier to hold fear at
bay if you had no alternative to what you were afraid of. That trace
of hope, tiny as it was, let the fear start to grow again. She began
practicing one of the pre-combat calming exercises she'd come across in
her studies of Sandeman, pleased to find that even with her lack of
experience it helped.
The next time she tried to stand, she felt almost normal. She had no
idea how long it would take the Alanna warriors to get to her--she had
no idea where she was, other than in a hospital--so she decided she had
better get dressed.
Doing so replaced what fear her exercises had left with sheer
frustration. To begin with, bandages made clothes that had fit
comfortably before so snug they would have been hard to get into even
if she'd had her hands free instead of in casts. As it was, the effort
of just getting them on, not to mention closing the buttons and zippers
she preferred to magseals, was more of a challenge than she appreciated
right then.
Not too long after she managed to make herself presentable, four
warriors wearing Alanna arms on their drab coveralls--and more heavily
armed than usual for peacetime--entered her room. She bowed to them,
acutely conscious of the scab forming on her cheek. They didn't return
the courtesy, of course; instead, two of them secured her arms behind
her back. They weren't especially gentle, but she was obscurely
pleased that they also weren't as rough as she'd expected them to be
with an oathbreaker.
And during the flight to the Alanna clanhome, she was both pleased and
a little puzzled by the warriors' continuing lack of overt hostility.
Even given the ingrained politeness of a Sandeman, she would have
expected some jostling, or unpleasant comments.
The flight also gave her time, and energine gave her strength, to think
back on the attack and Jason's dismissal of her. She still didn't want
to believe that the man she'd chosen to devote her life to had set her
up for such a painful, degrading death, even to give her the illusion
of dying for the best reason a thakur-na could have. But she couldn't
avoid the truth: from all the evidence she had, that was precisely what
he had done. And then when that had failed, he had deliberately
sentenced her to the death of an oathbreaker.
She shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position with her
arms fastened behind her. She failed, and that discomfort combined
with the wearing off of the painkiller to make her begin to resent her
former thakur. Maybe she did deserve to die, she thought bitterly. Not
for the dishonor he admitted she wasn't guilty of, but for her
misjudgment of him--when it came down to first causes, that was why she
was being flown to her death. While Jason would live, as wealthy,
comfortable, and influential as ever . . .
* * * * *
Dana wasn't able to appreciate either the crisp autumn weather or the
functional beauty of Alanna's clanhome when the plane landed and her
guards, their weapons drawn, escorted her into the warriors' hall. The
mixture of fear about what was to come, anger at Jason, and the ache of
her injuries had her irritable, wanting to get the whole mess over with
so she wouldn't have to think about it any more.
Killian was waiting for her, sitting at the judicial-looking Chief's
Bench at the far end of the hall. Some clans had theirs ornamented, to
varying degrees, but Alanna's was plain: glossy jet-wood, the only
color on it the arms of Alanna's chief.
Dana's heart sank as she realized that Killian was clad in leather as
black as his Bench, again relieved only by his arms, rather than the
usual warrior-drab. She hadn't known he'd earned that--been acclaimed
by his peers as having honor so uncompromising it couldn't be
questioned. So much for the lady Arden's--and her own--hope of some
clemency, Dana thought. Yet Arden must have known the Alanna was
entitled to honor-black . . .
Urged forward by one of her guards, Dana approached the Bench and,
before she could be prompted, knelt. A Sandeman knelt only to the gods
and to @'s thakur, if @ had one, but this was a special case; Killian
was acting on Jason's behalf, so she had to show him the same degree of
respect. She heard a quiet sound of what seemed like approval from the
warriors and w'women beginning to gather in the hall, but didn't dare
let it reawaken her hopes.
She returned Killian's silent gaze. She would continue to abide by the
customs she had tried so long to observe--she still didn't see how she
could change that now, whatever the circumstances--but she had decided
during the flight that she had done nothing to be ashamed of, and
wouldn't act as if she had.
Killian nodded once, then accepted the tape her senior guard handed him
and slipped it into a viewer in the Bench. Dana could hear only a
murmur from the speaker as he played the tape, but she could see
Killian's face clearly, and she had seldom seen such an expression of
revulsion. Surely she hadn't done anything disgraceful enough to merit
that!
When Killian looked up from the Bench screen, his face was set and grim
enough to make Dana shiver. He looked at her steadily for several
seconds, then rose and came around the Bench to stand in front of her,
gesturing to one of the bystanders.
"Da, Glavniy?" the w'woman who approached said.
"Speak English," Killian said. "Contact the Miklos for me, please, and
tell him that a serious question of custom has arisen that must be
dealt with immediately. I would like him to call a conference of all
available on-planet clan-chiefs as soon as possible, for that purpose."
"May I give him details?"
"Show him the tape I just watched; that will be more than enough."
"Yes, Chief." The w'woman went to the Bench and took the tape, then
left.
"Please stand, Ms. Manfredi," Killian said, startling Dana--and
startling her even more when he took her shoulders and steadied her as
she obeyed. "I regret that I must continue to observe the formalities
of treating you as an oathbreaker for the moment; custom, as you have
shown you understand, should not be broken easily. But I want you to
know that I believe you acted honorably and should not have the kind of
death he sentenced you to. I do not feel that honor would permit me to
carry out that sentence."
Dana was as stunned as she had been when Jason spoke the formula of
dismissal. "Chief--"
He raised a hand to silence her. "What to do about your situation
cannot be decided by a single clan-chief, even the chief of the First
Clan. But I doubt that you--or I--will be left in suspense long, once
the Miklos sees that tape and has called the conference I requested.
It should be an hour, perhaps a little less, and in the meantime I will
have you made as comfortable as your status permits." He nodded to the
senior of her guards. "See to it, Bowie, and bring her to the com room
as soon as the conference convenes."
* * * * *
Dana spent most of the next hour wondering what in Chaos was going on,
even as she appreciated Killian's actions on her behalf and the way her
guards managed to observe the letter of treating her as an oathbreaker
while at the same time wordlessly letting her know they didn't think
she could be, after Killian's endorsement.
Eventually they got word the conference was convening, and took her to
Alanna's com room, where she recognized Miklos' arms on the screen. As
far as she knew, the last time that communications-specialist clan had
agreed to call an all-planet conference was just before Sandeman was
brought into the Empire; it was difficult to believe she was the reason
for calling another. But it was impossible to disbelieve, especially
when the Miklos arms on the comscreen were replaced by Clan-chief
Hurley's face.
"Thank you all for your time," the Miklos clan-chief said. "This
conference was called at Alanna's request, concerning a situation for
which no custom exists, and for which Miklos agrees that one must be
established quickly."
He paused, then gave the background: Jason and Dana's vacation and the
Torrance interrogation reports, then he said, "The next part consists
of monitor tapes from the Shangri-La Continental Medcenter. At this
point, it still seemed that Jason's actions, peculiar as they were,
might have had some justification."
With that, the picture changed to show a hospital room, its only
patient a red-haired Terran woman. Dana recognized herself, wincing at
what the Sandemans must think, but she remained silent.
The hospital room was replaced by Hurley's face again. "That took
place this morning, medcenter time. Dana's situation has no precedent;
only clan-chiefs can decide the proper way to deal with it, with her,
and with Jason. Chiefs, Miklos awaits your responses."
As chief of the First Clan, Killian was entitled to speak this morning,
medcenter time. "Dana's situation has no precedent; only clan-chiefs can
decide the proper way to deal with it, with her, and with Jason. Chiefs,
Miklos awaits your responses."
As chief of the First Clan, Killian was entitled to speak first; he
used the coder combination that opened the conference for discussion.
"Killian of Alanna," Hurley recognized him.
"Is this 'cast going to the screen in Jason's suite?"
Hurley looked off-screen for a moment, then nodded. "It is. What is
Alanna's word?"
"None, yet; first, Alanna wishes Vader's opinion of what we have all
seen."
"As Alanna wishes. Donovan of Vader." Hurley recognized the chief of
the first clan founded after Sandeman overthrew the Shapers, named for
the figure in the Saga who had regained his and his family's honor by
overthrowing his oppressor. The most delicate questions of honor were
referred to Clan Vader, and their decisions were considered final.
"What is Vader's word?"
"Vader says this." Donovan's face held grim determination. "Dana
Manfredi has acted in full honor at all times. Although it has never
happened, Vader says the proper procedure for a thakur to release a 'na
without dishonor to either would be for the 'na's tattoo to be barred,
exactly as if honorable service had been ended by the thakur's death.
In attempting to have her killed, especially in the way he did, and
then by dismissing her to seek the death of one who has hurt or
dishonored his thakur, Jason has forfeited all claim to honor."
The two men in Jason's hotel suite looked at each other, and the head
of Jason Interstellar's Sandeman operation said feelingly, "Oh, shit.
That tears it, boss. We won't do a centi's worth of business here for
a year."
"They'll get over it, Gunter. We'll make up the loss elsewhere, and
you can keep things going until business picks up again here. I'll see
to it that your pay doesn't suffer--though you'll probably have to cut
staffing for a while."
"I can live with that, I guess. Not that I'll have any choice."
Killian spoke again. "Alanna thanks Vader, and Alanna says this." He
hoped Jason could read Sandeman expressions better than he could their
way of thinking. Obviously he didn't realize that Miklos controlled
two-way access to any set tuned in to a conference call, and that his
conversation had been heard in all the clans. "There is precedent for
a clan to give countenance to an off-worlder, and others have adopted
our customs; our Earl Klaes and his family even use the clan-prefixes
offered them by Shona."