STAR TREK - TOS - 35 - Romulan Way

VIP免费

2024-12-20 1 0 396.45KB 125 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

Star Trek - TOS - Romulan Way

The Romulan Way By Diane Duane and Peter Morwood.

FOREWORD

Among many issues we are still unsure of, one fact makes itself superevident: they were never

"Romulans."

But one hundred years after our first tragic encounters with them, that is what we still call them. The

Rihannsu find this a choice irony. Among the people of the Two Worlds, words, and particularly names,

have an importance we have trouble taking seriously. A Rihanha asked about this would say that we have

been interacting, not with them and their own name as it really is, but with a twisted word/name, an

aehallh or monster-ghost, far from any true image. And how can one hope to prosper in one's

relationships if they are spent talking to false images in the belief that they are real?

Eight years of life among the Rihannsu has dispelled some of the ghosts for me, but not all. Even thinking

in their language is not enough to completely subsume the observer into that fierce, swift, incredibly alien

mindset, born of a species bred to war, seemingly destined to peace, and then self-exiled to develop a

bizarre synthesis of the two. It may be that only our children, exchanged with theirs in their old custom of

rrh-thanai hostage-fostering, will come home to us knowing not only their foster families' minds, but their

hearts. And we will of course be shocked, after the fashion of parents everywhere, to find that our

children are not wholly our own anymore. But if we can overcome that terror and truly listen to what

those children say and do in our councils afterward, the wars between our peoples may be over at last.

Meanwhile, they continue, and this work is one of their by-products. It was begun as a mere piece of

intelligence-newsgathering for a Federation frightened of a strange enemy and wanting weapons to turn

against it from the inside. What became of the work, and the one who did it, makes a curious tale that

will smack of expediency, opportunism, and treason to some that read it.. mostly those unfamiliar with the

exigencies of deep-core work in hostile territory. Others may think they see that greatest and most

irrationally feared of occupational hazards for sociologists-the scientist "going native." By way of

dismissal, let me say that the presumption that one mindset is superior to another - an old one to a new, a

familiar one to a strange - is a value judgment of the rankest sort, one in which any sociologist would

normally be ashamed to be caught... if his wits were about him. But for some reason this single loophole

has been exempted from the rule, and the sociologist observer's mindset is somehow supposed to remain

unaltered by what goes on around him. Of this dangerous logical fallacy, let the reasoner beware.

The raw data that the observer was sent to gather is detailed in separate sections from those which tell

how she gathered it. This way, those minded to skip the incidental history of the gathering may do so. But

for those interested not only in the why of research among the Rihannsu but in the how as well, there is as

much information about the culmination of those eight years as the Federation will allow to be released at

this time. I hope that this writing may do something to hasten the day when our children will come home

from summer on ch'Rihan and ch'Havran and tell us much more, including the important things, the

heartmatters that cause Federations and Empires to blush and turn away, muttering that it's not their

business.

About that, they will be right. It is not their business, but ours; for there are no governments, only people.

May the day when they will fully be true come swiftly.

Terise Haleakala-LoBrutto

CHAPTER ONE

ARRHAE IR-MNAEHA T'KHELLIAN yawned, losing her sleep's last dream in the tawny light that lay

warm across her face, bright on her eyelids. She was reluctant to open her eyes, both because of the

golden-orange brightness outside them, and because Eisn's rising past her windowsill meant she had

overslept and was late starting her duties. But there was no avoiding the fight, and no avoiding the work.

She rubbed her eyes to the point where she could open them, and sat up on her couch.

It was courtesy and euphemism to call anything so hard and plain a couch: but then, it could hardly be

expected to be better. Being set in authority over the other servants and slaves did not entitle her to such

luxuries as stuffed cushions and woven couch fittings. It was the stone pillow for Arrhae, and a couch of

triple-thickness leather and whitewood, and a balding fur or two in far-sun weather: nothing more. And to

be truthful, anything more would have sorted ill with the austerity of her room. It was no more than a

place to wash and to sleep, preferably without dreams.

Arrhae sighed. She was much better off than most other servants in the household: but even for the sake

of the chief servant, the House could not in honor afford to make toward the hfehan any gesture that

might be construed as indulgence. Or comfort, Arrhae thought, rubbing at the kinks in her spine and

looking with loathing toward the 'fresher - which as often as not ran only with cold water. Still, she did at

least have one. And there was even a mirror, though that had been purchased with her own meager store

of money. It wasn't so much a luxury as a necessity, for House Khellian had rigid standards of dress for

its servants. Those who supervised them were expected to set a good example.

And the one who supervised everything was not supposed to be last to appear in the morning. Arrhae

went looking hurriedly for the scraping?stone. Granted that this morning's lateness was her first significant

fall from grace; but having achieved a position of trust, Arrhae was reluctant to lose it by provoking the

always?uncertain temper of her employer.

H'daen tr'Khellian was one of those middle?aged, embittered Praetors whose inherited rank and wealth

had placed him where he was, but whose inability to make powerful friends ? more correctly, from what

she had seen, to make friends at all ? had prevented him from rising any further. In the Empire there were

various means by which elevation could be attained through merit, or through... well, "pressure" was the

polite term for it. But H'daen had no military honors in his past that he could use as influence, and no

political or personal secrets to employ as leverage when influence failed. Even his wealth, though

sufficient to keep this fine house in an appropriate style, fell far short of that necessary to buy Senatorial

support and patronage. His home was a popular place to visit, much frequented by "acquaintances" who

were always on the brink of tendering support for one Khellian project or another. But somehow the

promised support never materialized, and Arrhae had too often overheard chance comments that told her

it never would.

She stood there outside the 'fresher door with the scraping--stone and the oil bottle clutched in one hand,

while she waved the other hopelessly around in the spray zone, waiting for a change in temperature.

There was no use waiting: the 'fresher was running cold again, and Arrhae clambered in and made some

of the fastest ablutions of her life. When she got out, her teeth were clattering together, and her skin had

been blanched by the cold to several shades paler than its usual dusky olive. She scrubbed at herself with

the rough bathfelt, and finally managed to stop her teeth chattering, then was almost sorry she had. The

sounds of a frightful argument, violent already and escalating, were floating in from the kitchen, two halls

and an anteroom away. She started struggling hurriedly into her clothes: she was still damp, and they

clung to her and fought her and wrinkled. The uproar increased. She thought of how horrible it would be

if the Head of House should stumble into the fhaihuhhru going on out there, and not find her there

stopping it, or, more properly, keeping it from happening. O Elements, avert ill.

"Stupid hlai?brained drunken wastrel!" someone shrieked from two halls and an anteroom away, and the

sound made the paper panes in the window buzz. Arrhae winced, then gave up and clenched her fists

and squeezed her eyes shut and swore.

This naturally made no difference to the shouting voices, but the momentary blasphemy left Arrhae with a

sort of crooked satisfaction. As servants' manager, hru'hfe, she monitored not only performance but

propriety, the small and large matters of honor that for slave or master were the lifeblood of a House. It

was a small, wicked pleasure to commit the occasional impropriety herself: it always discharged more

tension than it had a right to. Arrhae was calmer as she peeled herself out of her kilt and singlet and then,

much more neatly, slipped back into them. Pleats fell as they should, her chiton's draping draped

properly. She checked her braid, found it intact?at least something was behaving from the very start this

morning. Then she stepped outside to face whatever briefly interesting enterprise the world held in store.

The argument escalated as she got closer to it. Bemused then tickled by the noise, Arrhae discarded fear.

If tr'Khellian himself were there, she would sweep into the scene and command it. If not ? she considered

choice wordings, possible shadings of voice and manner calculated to raise blisters. She smiled. She

killed the smile, lest she meet someone in the hall while in such unseemly mirth. Then, "Eneh hwai'klihwnia

na imirrhlhhse!" shouted a voice, Thue's voice, and the obscenity stung the blood into Arrhae's cheeks

and all the humor out of her. The door was in front of her. She seized the latch and pulled it sideways,

hard.

The force of the pull overrode the door's frictionslides dramatically: it shot back in its runners as if about

to fly out of them, and fetched up against its stops with a very satisfying crash. Heads snapped around to

stare, and a dropped utensil rang loudly in the sudden silence. Arrhae stood in the doorway, returning the

stares with interest.

"His father never did that," she said, gentle?voiced. "Certainly not with a kllhe: it would never have stood

for it." She moved smoothly past Thue and watched with satisfaction as her narrow face colored to dark

emerald, as well it should have. "Pick up the spoon, Thue", she said without looking back, "and be glad I

don't have one of the ostlers use it on your back. See that you come talk to me later about language fit

for a great House, where a guest might hear you or the Lord." She felt the angry, frightened eyes fixed on

her back, and ignored them as she walked into the big room.

Arrhae left them standing there with their mouths open, and started prowling around the great ochre?tiled

kitchen. It was in a mess, as she had well suspected. House breakfast was not for an hour yet and it was

just as well, because the coals weren't even in the grill, nor the earthenware pot fired or even scoured for

the Lord's fowl porridge. I must get up earlier. Another morning like this will be the ruin of the whole

domestic staff. Still, something can be saved ? "I have had about enough," she said, running an idle hand

over the broad clay tiles where meat was cut, "of this business with your daughter, Thue, and your son,

HHirl. Settle it. Or I will have it settled for you. Surely they would be happier staying here than sold

halfway around the planet. And they're not so bad for each other, truly. Think about it."

The silence in the kitchen got deeper. Arrhae peered up the chimney at the puddings and meatrolls hung

there for smoking, counted them, noticed two missing, thought a minute about who in the kitchen was

pregnant, decided that she could cover the loss, and said nothing. She wiped the firing?tiles with three

fingers and picked up a smear of soot that should never have been allowed to collect, then cleaned her

fingers absently on the whitest of the hanging polishing cloths, one that should have been much cleaner.

The smear faced rather obviously toward the kitchen staff, all gathered together now by the big spit

roaster and looking like they thought they were about to be threaded on it. "The baked goods only half

started," said Arrhae gently, "and the roast ones not yet started, and the strong and the sweet still in the

coldroom, and fastbreak only an hour from now. But there must have been other work in hand. Very

busy at it, you must have been. So busy that you could spend the most important part of the working

morning in discussion. I'm sure the Lord will understand, though, when his meal is half an hour late. You

may explain it to him, Thue."

The terrified rustle gratified Arrhae ? not for its own sake, but because she could hear silent mental

resolutions being made to get work done in the future. Arrhae suppressed her smile again. She had seen

many Rihannsu officers among the people who came to H'daen's house, and had profitably taken note of

their methods. Some of them shouted, some of them purred: she had learned to use either method, and

occasionally both. She dropped the lid back onto a pot of overboiled porridge with an ostentatious

shudder that was only half feigned, and turned to narrow her eyes at Thue, the second cook, and

tr'Aimne, the first one. "Or if you would prefer to bypass the explanations," she said, "I would start

another firepot for the gruel, and use that fowl from yesterday, the batch we didn't cook, it's still good

enough; the Lord won't notice, if you don't overcook it. If you do ? " She fell silent, and peered into the

dish processor: it, for a miracle, was empty. There were at least enough clean plates.

"I've heard you this morning," she said, shutting the processor's door. "Now you hear me. Put your minds

to your work. Your Lord's honor rests as much with you as with his family. His honor rests as much in

little things, scouring and cooking, as in great matters. Mind it ? lest you find yourself caring for the honor

of some hedge?lord in Iuruth with a hall that leaks rain and a byre for your bedroom."

The silence held. Arrhae looked at them all, not singling any one person out for eye contact, and went out

through the great arched main doors that led to the halls and living quarters of the House. She didn't

bother listening for the cursing and backbiting that would follow her exit: she had other things to worry

about. For one, she should have reported to H'daen long before now. Arrhae made her way across the

center court and into the wing reserved for tr'Khellian's private apartments, noting absently as she did so

that two of the firepots in the lower corridor were failing and needed replacement, and that one of the

tame fvai had evidently been indoors too long.... At least the busyness kept her from fretting too much.

The Lord's anteroom was empty, his bodyservants elsewhere on errands. Arrhae knocked on the

couching?room door, heard the usual curt "le," and stepped in.

"Fair morning, Lord," she said.

H'daen acknowledged her with no more than an abstracted grunt and a nod of the head that could have

signified anything. He was absorbed in whatever was displayed on his reader; so absorbed that Arrhae

felt immediately surplus to all requirements and would have faded decorously from the room had he not

pointed at her and then rapped his finger on the table.

H'daen tr'Khellian was a man given to twitches, tics, and little gestures. This one meant simply "stay

where you are," and Arrhae did just that, settling her stance so that she would not have to shift her weight

to stay comfortable. She was mildly curious about what was on the reader screen but she wasn't quite

close enough to see its content. At least there were no recriminations for lateness. Not yet, anyway.

"Wine," said H'daen, not looking up from the screen. Its glow was carving gullies of shadow into the

wrinkled skin of his face, and though she had known it for long enough, as if for the first time Arrhae

realized that he was old. Very old. It was affectation that he still wore his iron?gray hair in the fringed

military crop, and dressed in the boots and breeches more reminiscent of Fleet uniform than of any

civilian wear. The affectation, and maybe the lost dream, of one who had never been anything worthy of

note in the Imperial military and now, his hopes defeated by advancing years as they had been defeated

by every other circumstance, never would. Arrhae looked at him as if through different eyes, and felt a

stab of pity.

"Must I die of thirst?" H'daen snapped testily. "Give me the wine I asked for."

"At once, Lord." She went through the dim, worn tidiness of the couching room to the wine cabinet, and

brought out a small urn good enough for morning but not so good as to provoke comment about waste.

She brought down the Lord's white clay cup, noted with relief that it was scoured, brought it and the urn

back to the table, and poured carefully, observing the proprieties of wine?drinking regardless of how

parched H'daen might be. There were certain stylized ritual movements in the serving of the ancient drink,

and if they were ignored notice would be taken and ill luck surely follow. That was the story, anyway;

whether there was any truth in something whose origins were lost in the confusion of legend and history

that followed the Sundering was another matter entirely. Perhaps better to be safe; perhaps, equally, as

well to honor the old ways in a time when the new ways had little of honor to them. She drew back the

flask with that small, careful jerk and twist which prevented unsightly droplets of wine from staining her

hands or the furnishings, set it down and stoppered it, and only then brought the cup to H'daen 's desk.

He had been watching her, and as she approached he touched a control so that the reader's screen went

dark and folded down out of sight. Arrhae didn't follow its movement with her eyes; it would have been

most impolite, and besides, all her concentration was needed for the brimming winecup.

"You're a good girl, Arrhae," said H'daen suddenly. "I like you."

Arrhae set down the wine most carefully, not spilling any, and made the little half bow of courteous

acceptance customary when presenting food or drink, to acknowledge the thanks, of the recipient. It

might also have acknowledged H'daen's compliment ? or then again, it might not have. It was always

safer to be equivocal.

"You run my household well, Arrhae'' H'daen continued eventually, "and I trust you."

He touched the shuttered reader with one fingertip, unaware of the worried look that had crept into her

eyes. A plainly confidential communication, and unexpected talk of trust and liking, made up an uneasy

conjunction of which she would as soon have no part. It had the poisonous taint of intrigue about it, of

meddling in the affairs of the great and powerful; of hazard, and danger, and death. Arrhae began to feel

afraid.

H'daen tr'Khellian tapped out a code on the reader's touchpad, and its screen rose once more from the

desk's recess. He read again what glowed therein amber on black, shifted so that he could give Arrhae

his full attention, and smiled at her. She kept the roil of emotion off her face with a great effort, and

succeeded in looking only intent and eager as a good head?of-servants should. H'daen's smile seemed to

promise so many things that she wanted no part of that when he finally spoke, the truth was anticlimactic.

"It appears that this house will have important guests before nightfall. There is much requiring my attention

before I" ? the smile crossed his face again ? "have to play the host, so I leave all the arrangements for

their reception in your hands. It is most important to me, to this House, and to everyone in it. Don't fail

me, Arrhae. Don't fail us."

H'daen turned away to scan the reader?screen one last time, and so didn't notice the undisguised relief on

Arrhae's face.

Ch'Rihan was a perilous place; it had always been, so -plotting and subtlety was almost an integral part

of both private and political life ? but now with the new, youthful aggressiveness in the Senate and the

High Command, suicide, execution, and simple, plain natural causes were far more frequent than they had

ever been before, and neither lowly rank nor lofty were any defense. With what she already knew about

H'daen's ambition, it would have horrified but not really surprised her had she been asked to slip poison

into someone's food or drink....

Some vestige of concern must have manifested itself in her face, because H'daen was staring at her

strangely when her attention returned to him. "Uh, yes, my Lord," she ventured as noncommittally as she

dared, trying not to sound as if she had missed anything else he had said to her.

"Then `yes' let it be!" The acerbic edge was back in his voice, a tone far more familiar to her ? to any in

House Khellian ? than the almost?friendly fashion in which he had spoken before. "I told you to do it, not

think about it, and certainly not on my time or in my private rooms. Go!"

Arrhae went.

There had been guests at the house many times before, and both intimate dinners for a few and banquets

for many; but this was the first time that Arrhae had been given so little notice of the event. At least she

had complete control of organization and ? more important - -purchase of produce. Armed with an

estimate of numbers attending, quantities required, and a list of possible dishes that she had taken care to

have approved, she set out with the chastened chief cook to do a little shopping.

The expedition involved more and harder work in a shorter time than Arrhae had experienced in a very

long while ? but it did have certain advantages. Foremost among those was the flitter. H'daen's

authorization to use his personal vehicle was waiting for Arrhae when she emerged from the stores and

pantries with a sheaf of notes in her hand and tr'Aimne in tow, and that authorization did as much to instill

respect for her in the chief cook as any amount of severity and harsh language. None of the household

staff were overly fond of H'daen tr'Khellian ? but his temper had earned him wide respect.

Arrhae checked the usage?clearance documents several times before going closer than arm's length to

the vehicle. Oh, she knew how to drive one ? who didn't? ? but given the present mood of the inner?city

constables, she would sooner find an error or an oversight in the authorizations herself than let it be found

by one of the traffic?control troopers. She listened to gossip, of course- - again, who didn't? but she gave

small credence to the stories she had overheard from other high?house servants of strange goings?on in

Command. Though there was always the possibility that Lhaesl tr'Khev had just been trying to impress

her.

Arrhae smiled at that particular memory as she went through the vehicle?status sections of the

documentation. Lhaesl was a good?looking young man, very good?looking indeed if one's tastes ran to

floppy, clumsily endearing baby animals. He tried so very hard to be grown?up, and always failed??by

not having lived long enough. On the last occasion that they met, he had managed to talk like a more or

less sensible person in the intervals of fetching her a cup of ale and that plate of sticky little sweetmeats

that had taken her so long to scrub from her fingers. She hadn't even liked the ale much, its harshness

always left her throat feeling abraded, but to refuse the youngster's attentions with the brutality needed to

make him notice would have been on the same level as kicking a puppy. So Arrhae had sat, sipping and

coughing slightly, nibbling and adhering to things, and being a good listener as working for H'daen had

taught her how. It was all nonsense, of course, a garble of starships and secrets, with important names

scattered grandly through the narrative that would have meant much more to Arrhae had she known who

these doubtless?worthy people were.

But gossip apart, there was an unspecified something wrong in i'Ramnau. Arrhae had visited the city

twice in recent months, not then to buy and carry, but merely to supervise purchases that would later be

delivered. Because of that she had traveled by yhfi-ss'ue, the less--than?loved public transport tubes.

They always smelled - -not bad, exactly, but odd; musty, as if they were overdue for a thorough washing

inside and out. There had been times, especially when Eisn burned hot and close in the summer sky,

when Arrhae would have dearly loved the supervising of the sanitary staff. That, however, was by the

way. What had remained with her about those last journeys to the inner city was the difference between

them. The first had been like all the others, boring, occasionally bumpy, and completely unremarkable.

But the second...

That had been when the three tubecars had stopped, and settled, and been invaded by both city

constables and military personnel, all with drawn sidearms. Arrhae had been very frightened. Her

previous encounters with the Rihannsu military had been decorous meetings with officers of moderately

high rank in House Khellian, where they were guests and she was responsible for their comfort. Then,

looking down the bore of an issue blaster, the realization had been hammered home that not all soldiers

were officers, and indeed that not all officers were gentlemen. What such uniformed brutes would do if

they found her in a private flitter without complete and correct documentation didn't bear considering....

She carded the papers at last and slipped them securely into her travel?tunic's pocket, then glanced at

tr'Aimne, the cook. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she said in a fair imitation of H'daen tr'Khellian at

his most irritable. "Get in!"

Without waiting for him, she popped the canopy and slipped sideways into the flitter's prime?chair,

mentally reviewing the warmup protocols as she made herself comfortable. Once learned, never

forgotten; while tr'Aimne was securing himself in the next seat?and being, she thought, as ostentatious as

he dared about fastening his restraint harness?her fingers were already entering the clearance codes that

would release the flitter's controls. Instrumentation lit up; all of it touch?pad operated systems rather than

the modern voice?activators. H'daen's flitter might have been beautifully appointed inside, and fitted with

a great many luxuries, but it was still, unmistakably, several years out?of?date. No matter, for today, old

or not, it was hers.

Arrhae shifted the driver into first and felt a tiny lurch as A/G linears came on line to lift the flitter from its

cradle. Ahead and above, the doors at the top of the ramp slid open, accompanying their movement with

a dignified chime of warning gongs rather than the raucous hooting of sirens. H'daen was a man of taste,

or considered himself as such, anyway. Out of the corner of her eye, Arrhae caught sight of tr'Aimne

tightening his straps, and his lips moving silently. Tr'Aimne was not fond of driving, and little good at being

driven.

"You could get in the back if you really wanted to,"

Arrhae said. "That way you wouldn't have to watch."

Tr'Aimne said nothing, and didn't even look at her, but his knuckles went very pale where they gripped

the harness--straps while his face flushed dark bronze-green. Arrhae shrugged, willing to let him brazen it

out, and took the flitter out of the garage.

She didn't even do it as fast as she might have, but nonetheless tr'Aimne changed complexion again, for

the worse. "Sorry," she said. It was of course too late to change the speed parameters?the master system

had them, and in accordance with local speed laws, wouldn't let them be changed without ground-based

countermand. "It won't be long," she said, but tr'Aimne made no reply. He was too busy holding on to

the restraint straps and the grab?handles inside the flitter. Arrhae for her own part shrugged and kept her

hands on the controls, just in case manual override might be needed. The system was fairly reliable, but

sometimes it overloaded: and this was, after all, a holiday....

With this in mind she had let the i'Ramnau traffic-control net have them from the very start of the trip

rather than free?driving it: people did forget to file drive-plans, and there had been some ugly accidents in

the recent past on the city's high?level accessways. One of them had in fact resulted in her appointment

as hru'hfe s'Khellian, and she would as soon not provide someone else with advancement by the same

means.

The flitter brought them to i'Ramnau far faster than yhfiss'ue would have, and too fast for Arrhae's liking;

she was enjoying herself as she had rarely since she began working for House Khellian. Both lifter and

driver of the Varrhan?series flitters were more powerful than warranted by their size, and they were less

vehicles to drive than to fly. Arrhae flew it, with great enthusiasm and considerable skill. When they

grounded in the flitpark, and the far door popped, followed by tr'Aimne leaning out and making most

unfortunate noises, she busied herself with her own straps and lists, and carefully didn't "notice."

Finally he was straightening his clothes and had most of his color back. "Are you all right?" she said.

"I... yes, hru'hfe. I think so." He coughed again, and then spat??close enough to her feet for insult's sake,

and yet not close enough to let her make an issue of it.

Well, there it was, he certainly had taken it personally; and she didn't need a quarrel with the chief cook,

not today of all days. Arrhae glanced at the spittle briefly, just long enough to make it clear she had

noticed that its placing was no accident, and then looked at him wryly. "If I had wanted to make you

unwell," she said, "I wouldn't have done so poor a job of it ? you wouldn't be able to stand. Come, chief

cook, pardon my eagerness. I so love to drive."

He nodded rather curtly, and together they gathered up the netbags for the few things they would be

needing and headed for the market. Arrhae pushed the pace. They were already later than she would

have preferred to be.

It was annoying that she had to be in such a Powers-driven hurry on Eitreih'hveinn, one of the nine major

religious festivals of the Rihannsu year. No matter that the Farmers' Festival was one of her favorites: she

had no time to enjoy it today. There was only one good thing about it, and Arrhae took full

advantage?the produce for sale was going to be superb.

Tr'Aimne, to her mild annoyance, refused to enjoy the shopping trip. One would have thought the sight of

so much gorgeous food would have filled any decent cook full of joy, but he generally dragged along

behind Arrhae rather like a wet cloak trailed on the ground. Maybe he's still not well, she thought, and

slowed down a little for his sake. But it made no difference, tr'Aimne was incivility itself at the merchants'

and farmers' booths, and his manners began to improve only as they got closer to the expensive,

exclusive stores near the city center. By that time they had acquired most of the staples they needed, in

one form or another, and had begun to shop for the luxuries that made H'daen tr'Khellian's formal dinners

the well?attended functions they were.

Rare delicacies, fine vintages, fragrant blossoms for the tables and the dining chamber. Some were easy

to find - -Arrhae enjoyed the simple pleasure of being able to point at anything that took her fancy

regardless of its price, and striking the Khellian house?sigil nonchalantly onto whatever bills were pushed

toward her ? but others proved much more difficult. And one or two were quite impossible.

"What do you mean, out of stock? You always had hlai'vnau before, so why not now?"

The shopkeeper went through all the appropriate expressions and movements of regret ? none of which,

of course, put any cuts of meat in the empty cool?trays or did anything to calm Arrhae down. She had all

but promised that the traditional holiday foods would be served at H'daen's table, and now here was this

bucolic idiot telling her that he had sold every last scrap of wild hlai in the city. She was sure enough of

that sweeping statement, because it could be bought nowhere else, at least nowhere else on this particular

day. Only merchants approved by priestly mandate and subjected each year to the most stringent

examinations were permitted to sell wild game on the day set aside to honor domestic produce and the

people who provided it, and this man held the single such approval in i'Ramnau.

"Very well." Arrhae unclenched her fists, annoyed that she had let so much irritation be so obvious;

tr'Aimne would doubtless delight in reporting it to his cronies. "Plain hlai'hwy, then." She leaned closer,

smiling a carefully neutral smile that wasn't meant to reassure, and didn't. "But do make sure they're

properly cleaned. If any of Lord tr'Khellian's guests break their teeth on a stray scale, your reputation

would certainly suffer."

If only H'daen's mansion was closer to a large city instead of this mudhole. If only it weren't so

fashionable to have a home in open country. If only... Arrhae dismissed the thoughts as not worth wasting

brainspace on; H'daen lived where he lived, and that was all. But why here? the stubborn voice in her

head persisted. Nothing ever happens here....

The sound began as a rumble so low it was beyond the edge of hearing; Arrhae felt it more as a vibration

in her bones and teeth. It persisted there for long enough to be dismissed to the unconscious, like

computer hum or the white?noise song from an active viewscreen ? and then it raced up through the scale

to peak at an earsplitting atonal screech that chased its source across the sky as a military sub-orbital

shuttle dropped vertically through the scattered clouds.

Nothing... ? Well, almost nothing, Arrhae thought. The shuttle snapped out of its descent pattern and

made a leisurely curve out of sight; probably on approach to the Fleet landing field that lay halfway

between i'Ramnau and H'daen's mansion. The echoes of its passage slapped between the city's buildings

for many minutes afterward, but long before they died away completely Arrhae had finished the last of

her purchases and made enough amiably threatening noises to insure that they would be delivered in good

time, and was making her way back to the holding?bay where her flitter waited. Another night, she

thought, another dinner, probably another of H'daen's deals, struck but never completed. And with

whom?

Oh, well. A full belly at least...

Turning away from the dining chamber for perhaps the tenth time since she had told him everything was in

readiness, H'daen tr'Khellian made his tenth gesture of approval toward his hru'hfe. Arrhae

acknowledged again -and tried to keep the good?humored appreciation on her face when it seemed

determined to slip off and reveal the boredom beneath. H'daen's guests were late, very late indeed, and

without even the courtesy of advising their host of the reason why. The lateness was unusual, the lateness

combined with the rudeness nearly unheard of. H'daen knew it; the original enthusiasm when he saw how

well his instructions had been followed had long since eroded to an automatic wave of the hand, and

these past few times Arrhae was prepared to hear herself ordered to clear the place and dump all the

food. She privately gave him five more minutes before the command was given....

And then the door chime sounded loudly through the silent house. Arrhae could not have said who

moved first or faster, H'daen or herself, but after the first three steps he remembered his dignity and let

her attend to the guests, if guests they were, while he returned to his study for what was probably a

well?deserved swift drink.

The callers were indeed the long?awaited dinner companions: a man and a woman, both Fleet officers in

full uniform of scarlet and black. Looking past them out into the darkness, Arrhae could see their

transport sitting in one of the mansion's parking bays, and for some reason felt sure that it wasn't empty.

The officers' aides, or their driver, or a guard, or?Arrhae stamped down on her curiosity before it went

any further; the transport wasn't her business.

"Llhei u'Rekkhai," she said in her best voice and most mannered phase of language. "Aefvadh; rhehHwael

1'oenn?uoira." She stepped to one side so that they could walk inside and straight to the laving?bowl and

fair cloths set out for refreshment after their "arduous journey"; no more arduous than a stroll from the

military flitter, and no more for refreshment than the token dabbing of face and fingertips, but a traditional

courtesy to guests nonetheless.

"Sthea'hwill au?khia oal'lhlih mnei i H'daen hru'fihrh Khellian... ?" said the woman.

Announce whom? thought Arrhae. 1 don't know any names yet! "Nahi 'lai, llhei?"

One of the officers hesitated, a soft towel still in his hands, fingers clenching momentarily at the

interrogative lift of Arrhae's voice, then glanced swiftly at his companion.

"U'rreki tae?hna," she said absently, not especially interested. "Hfivann h'rau."

"Hra'vae?" he said slowly. There was wariness and suspicion in that voice, and Arrhae wondered why.

Then the officer turned full around, staring at her with cold, secretive eyes as if trying to read more than

what he saw in her face. "Hsei vah-udt?" The demand came out like a whipstroke.

"Arrhae i?Mnaeha t'Khellian, daise hru'hfe, Rekk?"

"Rhe've... ?" The man didn't sound convinced. "Khru va?"

"Ah, Subcommander, it's enough..." Though his companion spoke in a less formal mode, there was no

mistaking the tacit warning in her voice. "This one is only doing her job, as are we all. And well she does

it." She dipped her fingers into the bowl of scented water once more, then dried them off and waved their

newly?acquired perfume appreciatively under her nose. "Very well indeed. Tell H'daen that Commander

t'Radaik and Subcommander tr'Annhwi are here."

"Madam, sir, at once. There is drink here in the anteroom, and small foods for you." Arrhae opened a

door off the hallway. "And servants to attend you." There had better be, she thought. Neither of H'daen's

houseguests were the languid desk?captains she was used to; there was a quick and haughty anger about

the man tr'Annhwi, but the lazy, controlled power of Commander t'Radaik was more disturbing still. The

woman's every word, every gesture, bespoke a confidence in her strength or her rank that suggested

both were far beyond what first sight might suggest. Arrhae bowed them through the doorway, saw that

at least three of the other house servants were waiting with trays and cups and flagons, and slipped the

door shut on her own silent sigh of relief.

She had cause, once or twice in the next hour, to enter or pass through the dining chamber, a place of

dimmed lights and muted voices, where H'daen and his guests discussed what seemed matters of

importance. Like any good servant, Arrhae could be selectively deaf when necessary, and moreover had

little enough time to eavesdrop even had she more inclination to do so. The unexpected work created by

her shopping trip meant that everything else was running hours behind - an inspection of the guestrooms,

completion of her half?finished audit of the domestic purchase ledgers, and even getting herself something

to eat....

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

StarTrek-TOS-RomulanWayTheRomulanWayByDianeDuaneandPeterMorwood.FOREWORDAmongmanyissueswearestillunsureof,onefactmakesitselfsuperevident:theywerenever"Romulans."Butonehundredyearsafterourfirsttragicencounterswiththem,thatiswhatwestillcallthem.TheRihannsufindthisachoiceirony.AmongthepeopleoftheTwoWor...

展开>> 收起<<

STAR TREK - TOS - 35 - Romulan Way.pdf

共125页,预览25页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

STAR TREK - TOS - 35 - Romulan Way

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: