CHAPTER NINE
THEY WERE SETTLED in their stateroom aboard the Terravegan-bound starliner before Jasmine could collect herself enough to ask what was going on.
“I’ve been recalled,” Ambassador Dupont said as they sat in the living room. “My appointment has been rescinded.”
“But why?” she asked, still crying. “Mekashe didn’t even look at me! The emperor didn’t speak to us. I don’t understand!”
“Jasmine...”
She dabbed at her eyes. Then she looked at her father with horror. “You told me to be quiet, when we were going into the building. I said some things about the doglike aliens... Was that why?”
“Of course not,” he began.
“You’re not telling the truth,” she said, reading it in his tired face. “It was, wasn’t it? I offended the emperor because I was indiscreet about his guests and I made that comment about the cat statues. Mekashe warned me that he took offense easily.” Her face reddened. “Well, what a stupid, silly attitude! Imagine sending an ambassador home because his daughter insulted some dumb alien race and didn’t like cat statues! And Mekashe didn’t even defend me, did he?” she raged. “He just let me go without a word!”
“Mekashe is obligated to do what he’s told by the emperor,” her father said.
“Like a perfect soldier,” she said furiously. “I thought he cared about me! I thought he wanted a life with me! Well, if he’s that petty, if his race is that petty, I don’t want to be part of them!”
He knew that she was trying to make the best of a bad situation. He couldn’t tell her about Mekashe, about his true form. He couldn’t tell her that her screams and insults toward the Cehn-Tahr aboard the starcruiser had brought them to this. He didn’t dare reveal to her that the Mekashe she’d grown to know was actually something quite different. He was bound by law not to reveal the Cehn-Tahr’s true form. In any case, knowing Mekashe’s true form would hurt her even more. With her morbid fear of cats, she couldn’t have had a life with Mekashe.
She noticed her father’s reticence, finally, and looked at him. He was devastated. That was when she realized just how bad things were going to be. He’d lost his job. Worse than that, he’d lost a position that had been the first of its kind. He would be the first and last human ambassador to the Cehn-Tahr. All that because she’d spoken out of turn, and not even about the Cehn-Tahr themselves, for heaven’s sake! She’d been only mildly insulting about a creature at the reception! And, well, there were those comments about the cat statues. If they were religious objects, it wasn’t surprising that she’d caused offense.
She went close to him, worried. “Daddy, I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I know how much this job meant to you. But it will be all right. I mean, your bosses can contact the emperor, can’t they, and explain that it was my fault.” She brightened. “Then it will be all right, and you can come back.” She grimaced. “I won’t come with you, of course. I might offend someone else and cause more trouble. I can get a job.”
Her tone was bitter. She’d cared so much for Mekashe, and he hadn’t even looked at her. Probably, he’d just been having a bit of fun with her before he went back home to his military job with his cat statues.
Religious objects. She frowned. Did they actually worship cats?
She started to ask her father, but he’d slumped down into a chair and closed his eyes.
“I haven’t slept well for a long time,” he said gently. “I think I’ll try to nap, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t.” She bent and kissed the top of his head. “I’ll just watch the news in my room.”
He heard her footsteps die away. He fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. At least the worst was over, he thought.
* * *
JASMINE WENT FROM station to station on the Tri-D vid, restlessly, but nothing interested her. She turned off the vid and pulled out the little virtual Nagaashe that she’d bought that wonderful day with Mekashe when they’d visited Dacerius in the holoroom.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She’d never loved anyone so much. It had been agony to part from him, even overnight. Now she’d part from him for a lifetime.
He was in the military. To have achieved such a high position at his age—he had to be in his early thirties—meant that he’d been a soldier for a long time. He hadn’t told her. No wonder. She’d been so blunt about her distaste for anything military. Why would he have told her?
That attitude, and her fear of cats, had been a hurdle he must have felt they couldn’t overcome. But he might have tried, except for the emperor’s cold shoulder. She couldn’t believe that such a tiny thing—her brash words—had been responsible for getting her father fired. She’d never have thought the Cehn-Tahr were so petty. She knew their society was rigid in its beliefs, but that was ridiculous.
Her father said the cat statues were religious objects. No wonder they were everywhere on Memcache. She’d noticed that Mekashe was uncomfortable when she screamed at the virtual galot at his villa. She groaned inwardly. She’d made a complete fool of herself, cost her father the position of his dreams, set diplomatic relations back a hundred years, lost Mekashe...
She walked to the wall and touched a button, opening the view to space. Stars in their various colors flew by as the starliner headed back toward Terravega. This would be a quick trip, too. This ship was the fastest in the fleet. Their passage had been arranged and paid for by the diplomatic service. Apparently, they were anxious to get the Duponts home before they could make things worse. Before Jasmine could make things worse.
She heard a faint purring sound and looked down. The little Nagaashe was looking up at her with pretty blue eyes.
She reached down and coaxed it into her cupped hands. She lifted it to her face and felt it purr as it rubbed its head against her cheek. It wasn’t until then that she realized she was crying.
“I’ve ruined everything,” she whispered. “Everything!”
The little creature just purred softly, the sound comforting in the silence of her cabin.
* * *
THEY WERE MET at the spaceport by a delegation, headed by Councilman Vickers, the presidential adviser who’d championed Professor Dupont’s appointment by the president for the position, against many protests.
“I’m so sorry,” Professor Dupont said heavily.
Vickers glanced from him to Jasmine, who was visibly subdued. “So are we,” he said quietly. “It was a magnificent opportunity for us, to have ties to the Cehn-Tahr Empire. It would have been a boost to our economy to open trade with the hundred and ten worlds they embrace. Many exotic products would have found their way to our shops, including some medicines that would have delighted the medical sector.”
“Yes.” Dupont was lost for words.
Jasmine started to speak, but Vickers gave her a look of such distaste that she shut her mouth and flushed.
“We’ll speak later,” he told her father. “For now, get some rest while I try to save as many political heads as I can—mine included.”
“I had great hopes,” Dupont choked out.
“So did we all.”
The delegation left them at the spaceport. Jasmine felt worse by the minute when she began to realize the trouble she’d made not only for her father, but for her planet.
“It’s not all so bad,” she tried to comfort him on the way back to the house they still owned. “I mean, you can always go back to teaching.”
He didn’t look at her. “Do you think so?” he asked in a subdued tone.
“Of course. It will be all right,” she added softly. “Really, it will.”
* * *
IT WASN’T. THE Tri-D news was full of the ambassador’s expulsion from Memcache the very next day. His failure was punctuated by a statement from the ambassadorial service that the wrong person had obviously been chosen for such an important position. It should have been a career politician, they stated, as they’d said when Councilman Vickers insisted on appointing an academic to the job and convinced the president to go along. Vickers had lost his position, along with all the councilmen who’d approved Professor Dupont’s appointment.
On and on it went. Day by day, Professor Dupont grew more despondent. He’d stopped going out at all, having been subjected to verbal abuse almost everywhere he went. He’d tried to take Jasmine to the opera, to cheer her up, when they’d been stopped at the door by two angry women with ties to the embassy.
Jasmine was in tears when they came home. She went to her room and refused to leave it.
Things got worse. Her father tried to get his old teaching job back, only to be told that considering his notoriety at the moment, the university felt that it would place them in an untenable position. They had the good name of their institution to consider, was their final word.
* * *
IN THE WEEKS that followed, every attempt he made to find a teaching job was thwarted by the ongoing publicity. It never stopped. The public outrage was horrendous. Imagine, one commentator said, having one person destroy all hopes of a new era in interplanetary relations. And all because his daughter couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
Professor Dupont had tried to shield Jasmine from what people were saying, but he couldn’t do it. She felt the guilt like an invading disease. Especially when her father’s small savings were used up and they faced the loss of their home.
“I’ll get a job,” she said firmly.
He just looked at her, morose and sad and quiet. His pride was shattered. His future was gone. He had no desire to do anything.
She got a copy of the digital want ads and started looking for a suitable position. Only to realize that she didn’t know how to do anything. She had no skills, no education past secondary school, and unskilled labor was limited to supervising robotic workers. She couldn’t even do that, having no robotic training.
* * *
DEPRESSED, WORRIED AND dejected, she went back home after a terrible dead end of job seeking and found medics and law enforcement in the front yard.
She saw them bringing out a still form in an ambutube, covered in white fabric, with blood coming through where the head would be.
“Daddy!” she screamed.
One of the law-enforcement officials caught her before she could get to the ambutube. “It’s too late,” he said in a gruff tone. “He’s gone.”
“When? How?”
“He killed himself,” came the quiet reply.
He was saying something else, but Jasmine couldn’t really hear it. She fainted.
* * *
MEKASHE WENT ABOUT his duties with a heavy heart. He held no animosity toward Tresar or the emperor, especially now that he knew how impossible it would have been for him to have a life with Jasmine.
Still, the feelings he had for her were stubborn. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing her beautiful face, hearing her laugh, watching her explore the places he’d taken her with the joy and fascination of a young child. She colored his dreams, haunted him waking and sleeping.
Tresar noticed his sadness and apologized once again for the misery his reaction to Jasmine’s outburst had caused.
Mekashe put a big hand on his shoulder and managed a smile for his friend. “Karamesh,” he said simply. Fate.
Tresar nodded after a minute. “Karamesh.”
* * *
THE EMPEROR ALSO noticed Mekashe’s preoccupation. He looked as if he never slept. His mischievous personality had gone forever. He was solemn, quiet, devoted to duty and his men, but the job became his life.
Tnurat called him into his office at the Dectat one afternoon. To Mekashe’s surprise, Rhemun was sitting in a chair beside the desk where the emperor was seated.
“If we had one other officer present, I would expect to be court-martialed,” Mekashe said with a faint flash of green humor in his eyes.
“Nothing so dire.” The emperor chuckled. “No, it is another matter entirely. Now that Rhemun has two small children, his mate has become overanxious about having him in command of a warship.”
Mekashe smiled. “Dr. Mallory has a point,” he replied with a glance at Rhemun.
The commander of the Holconcom stood up to greet his best friend. “She does,” Rhemun replied. “Kipling is now an adolescent, and he and Dtimun’s son, Komak, are finding many things to occupy them that my mate is unable to prevent. The boy is the pride of my house, but he needs a strong hand. Edris is too soft with him.”
“Not to mention that your daughter is without equal at finding dangerous things to explore,” Mekashe mused.
The emperor chuckled. “Indeed. My granddaughter uncovered a store of nag-tassles in a bag stored in a closet at the Fortress,” he said, meaning the home he had once shared with Lady Caneese, his mate. It was now occupied by Dtimun, Madeline and their sons. “It has been there for a century or more, undisturbed.”
“Until Larisse pushed a button and ignited the lot,” Rhemun said, shaking his head. “It took two hours of bathing to neutralize the smell. And I fear your son’s closet,” he told the emperor, “will never be the same again, despite the hazard crew’s best efforts.”
“It was simple enough to reconstruct the closet,” came the amused reply. “I think Larisse has the makings of a scientist, like her grandmother. My mate is unsurpassed in biochemistry.”
“I must agree,” Rhemun said. “She and Madeline Ruszel are working on some secret project that they will not share with any of us.”
“Most likely a new form of anesthetic,” the emperor said. “Rognan is helping them by combing the forest for rare herbs.”
“At least he can still fly,” Rhemun mused, “even if one leg is less than functional.”
The emperor nodded. “Meg-Ravens are fascinating to observe. Rognan has been with me since Dtimun was born, over two and a half centuries ago.” He got to his feet. “But I digress. I asked you here,” he told Mekashe, “because Rhemun would very much like to trade places with you.”
For a few seconds, Mekashe thought of wild things like sensor nets, like the ones humans had believed that the Cehn-Tahr of the Holconcom had employed to keep their true form secret from the humans with whom they served. Actually, the shape-shifting ability was due to the genetic tampering of millennia ago, along with the use of microcyborgs to stabilize their humanoid forms.
“Not literally.” Rhemun chuckled as he saw his friend’s expression.
“How sad,” Mekashe teased. “I would like a child. Two would be magnificent.”
“Bond with someone and make your own” was the quick reply, just as quickly regretted. Rhemun grimaced and started to apologize, but Mekashe just shook his head and smiled.
“What he means,” the emperor interrupted, “is that he would like to return to the kehmatemer. Which would leave his position as commander of the Holconcom to you, as next in line in Clan status. How would you feel about that?”
Mekashe took a deep breath. “Two weeks ago, I would have resisted with all my heart,” he confessed. “However, now I think an assignment aboard a warship suits my mood. And since I already know the officers and men, it will be like a homecoming.”
Rhemun beamed. “I thought you might approve.”
The emperor smiled, as well. “I think it will be good for you,” he told Mekashe. He drew in a breath. “I deeply regret the result of my anger,” he added heavily. “I did not foresee the firestorm of hatred that would follow Professor Dupont and his daughter back to Terravega.”
Mekashe knew what he meant. He’d seen the vids, raging about the loss of a valuable diplomatic station. In fact, it had disturbed him so greatly to think of those gentle people suffering such anger that he’d stopped watching the news at all.
“They were both sensitive, in many ways. Jasmine was very young. And very spoiled,” he added reluctantly.
“Life will be hard for her, without her father,” the emperor agreed.
“Without her father?” Mekashe exclaimed.
The emperor’s face was lined with his regrets. “Professor Dupont committed suicide. The pressure was more than he could bear, especially when he was unable to return to an academic career because of his notoriety.”
Mekashe closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. That kind, gentle man, who’d loved music and books. It had never occurred to him that the humans would be so cruel. And poor Jasmine, alone, completely alone, with no other family to console her.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. The emperor searched his eyes. “You did not know.”
“No,” Mekashe said. “I stopped watching news vids some time ago.” He paused. “I became close to Jasmine’s father. We played chess almost every day. He was a good, kind person. I will mourn him.”
The emperor’s hand fell away and he turned. “As I grow older, I begin to see many faults in myself. More than I imagined. The humans are vicious with their own kind. If I had been less judgmental, less rigid, perhaps there might have been another way to save face without destroying a family.”
Mekashe didn’t reply. He stared at his highly polished black boots. “It has been our way for centuries,” he said finally. “The offense was legitimate.”
The emperor turned. “Your young friend had only seen eighteen summers,” he told Mekashe.
The other alien was shocked. He’d never considered age. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask how old she was. She seemed mature at times, and almost juvenile at others. But to him, whose life span had already covered more than two and a half centuries, the contrast was alarming.
“I had no idea,” he said after a minute.
“Compared to us, with our lives measured in centuries, she was a child,” the emperor said sadly. “Children make outbursts. They say things without understanding the effect they have. If the ambassador himself had said such things, perhaps I would have been justified. But this punishment was unjust. And I regret it most fervently.”
Neither of his relatives knew quite what to say. That he was upset was quite obvious, and that was rare. The emperor was widely known for his lack of facial expression when he wanted to conceal his true feelings.
“I have had consultation with the Dectat,” he said after a minute, turning to them. “We are debating other methods of dealing with offenses by aliens on Memcache. Less drastic ones. It is too late for Professor Dupont. But it may ensure that another diplomat does not suffer the same fate.”
“That is gracious of you,” Mekashe said.
“Quite gracious,” Rhemun seconded.
The emperor took a breath and forced a smile. “So,” he said to Mekashe. “When would you like to assume command of the Holconcom?”
Mekashe and Rhemun traded smiles. “As soon as possible, I would think,” Mekashe said.
“As soon as possible,” Rhemun agreed.
* * *
IT TOOK WEEKS to deal with her father’s loss, with the funeral, with the horrible aftermath of the publicity that had led him to take his own life. She turned nineteen in the interim and hardly noticed the addition of an extra year—in fact, she didn’t even celebrate it. She had barely scraped up enough credits for a meager funeral. Oddly, there had been a stranger at the facility who asked to see the body before it was cremated to take a tissue sample. She asked the director if he was a government official. The director only said that it was routine these days, but he didn’t meet her eyes as he said it.
The funeral was badly attended. Jasmine and two friends from school and her mother’s best friend were the only attendees. Professor Dupont’s colleagues stayed away, perhaps concerned that the taint of his disgrace might rub off on them. It only made Jasmine more bitter, if that was possible. The happy, thoughtless girl had become a cold, angry woman. The loss of her only parent was devastating.
* * *
SHE GAVE A harsh interview to a single member of the Tri-D press and told the reporter without reservation that she held all the news media accountable for her father’s suicide. They had blood on their hands that would never wash away, she added bitterly. Their constant harping on his disgrace, their ongoing commentary, had made it impossible for him to find work, leaving him despondent and destitute. He was unable to show his face in public without being verbally assaulted anywhere he went.
And how would the reporter like that? she added viciously. How would he like being harassed and harangued on the nightly news for weeks, with no relief from the hounding publicity?
He had no answer. When he gave the story online, he didn’t cut one single word of her diatribe. In fact, he seemed to agree with her. It was after that when she discovered that she could go outside without having people yell at her about her father’s disgrace.
The only concession she’d made was not to mention the Cehn-Tahr or the part they had played in her father’s destruction. The emperor had great power and his reach was far, even into the Tri-Galaxy Council. Enraging him would accomplish nothing, except to make her life even harder. Nevertheless, she blamed him for her father’s death. She blamed all the Cehn-Tahr, with their rigid culture that punished words.
Her father’s suicide was a turning point for her, in many ways. The publicity went away. Another story sent the newspeople rushing after a disgraced theatrical figure who had given his child up for adoption after his wife’s death. He was treated as badly as poor Professor Dupont had been. Jasmine felt sorry for him and hoped that he wouldn’t take the same path.
* * *
SHE CONSIDERED A PROFESSION, because there was nothing left of her father’s small estate. She grimaced as she surveyed her expensive wardrobe, which had eaten up the advance the embassy had given him for expenses. She’d bought pretty things to wear for Mekashe. For Mekashe, who’d betrayed her, who’d turned his back on her, who hadn’t even looked at her that last day at the reception.
She blamed the Cehn-Tahr for all her misery. There had been a tentative offer from a politician on behalf of the Cehn-Tahr government, the offer of a scholarship. She’d turned away, after telling him that she would cheerfully starve to death before she would accept a single credit from the government that had sent her father home to die.
She’d wanted badly to follow in her late mother’s footsteps and become a physician. But she had no money for the training that she would require. It was expensive. There were grants, certainly, but when she stood the preliminary tests, her scores were not high enough to merit scholarships. She had a diploma from secondary school, but her focus had been on fun and fashion, not on any difficult subjects like chemistry or physics or even languages, which would have helped her get into college.
She could go into the military and they would provide the necessary training, all expenses paid, and she would have a place to live. But she had issues with the Terravegan military authority. There were still rumors about the three-strikes law that turned military personnel into lab rats after three infractions of military law. A pirate named Percy Blount had exposed a black-ops team that was trying to apprehend Dr. Edris Mallory, Rhemun’s mate, when she’d fled the Holconcom after an altercation with Rhemun before they bonded. The publicity had caused a great stir and many people lost jobs in the medical sector. But Jasmine heard gossip that some physicians in the military were still required to grow clones covertly for replacement organs for the high levels of society, even though this was outlawed. She’d also heard that the three-strikes provision was still in effect to gain live human material for experimentation in bioweapons labs. It was distasteful.
On the other hand, she had very few options. One was to get a job, any job, just until she could decide what to do next. She’d tried everything, but so far with no success. She got out the latest virtual ads, resigned to further disappointment, and went through them.
There was actually one prospect, although it was a distant one. A researcher needed someone who could take dictation and use a computer to manage and arrange her notes. It would mean some travel, and the woman was quite specific about the sort of help she wanted. Someone poised, used to social situations, intelligent, quick-witted and used to working odd hours.
That wasn’t quite Jasmine, but she felt she could adapt. And there was nothing else available. So she shot a virtual query to the researcher, who agreed to meet her in the spaceport at Hayes Corner on Terravega the next day.
* * *
JASMINE WAS SITTING in the spaceport, waiting with desperate hope for her potential employer, when she felt eyes on her.
She looked up, and a tall, powerfully built Rojok in a black military uniform was looking down at her. He had very long straight blond hair, dusky skin and slit eyes. With a start, she recognized him from the reception on Memcache. That was Chacon, the president of the Rojok government.
She stood up. “Sir,” she said politely.
He smiled. “Jasmine Dupont?”
“Yes, sir.”
“An odd place to find you,” he remarked.
She drew in a breath. “I’m waiting for a potential employer, a researcher who needs someone to write notes,” she said miserably as she sat back down. “It was the only thing I could find.”
“I had heard that you were interested in a career with the military, studying medicine,” he said after a minute.
“Well, yes,” she said hesitantly, wondering how he’d heard something that she was certain hadn’t been spoken aloud. “But there are some things...” She hesitated to criticize her government. “I’m not sure that our military is where I belong,” she finished with a long sigh.
“Then how would you feel about my military?” he asked.
Her lips fell open. “Your...military?”
“The Cehn-Tahr have a tradition—the Cularian medical specialist aboard their flagship is always a human female.” He chuckled. “I have been amazed at the acceptance of this odd placement, both among the government and the military itself. So it occurred to me that a pilot project would be worth the trouble. I would like to have you trained as a Cularian specialist and assign you to the flagship of our own military authority.”
Her heart lifted. She couldn’t believe her good fortune. “Sir, I would be... It would be an honor... I never dreamed...!” She was babbling. She couldn’t even manage a sentence.
He smiled. “Then you would consider it?”
“Yes! Oh yes!”
“I will arrange this with my adjutant, and have him contact you with the required visas and credentials. We have the finest military academy in the three galaxies on Enmehkmehk, my home planet. I think it will invigorate my command to have a human female in charge of sick bay, as you humans refer to it.”
She was stunned. She just smiled. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much! I’ll study hard. I won’t let you down, ever.”
“I know that already.” He looked up. Another military officer was beckoning to him. “Lieumek, my second in command,” he said, indicating the other Rojok. “He’ll contact you in a day or so.”
“Thank you again. But don’t you need my address...?”
He waved that away. “Lieumek can find anyone.” He chuckled. “I will see you again, Jasmine Dupont.”
He made her a brief bow and walked away, leaving her wide-eyed and shell-shocked.
The crackle of her communicator ring brought her out of her stupor. She touched the crystal and a heavyset woman’s face appeared. “Miss Dupont?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Dr. Madge Norton. I deeply regret to tell you that my niece pleaded to come with me on my next expedition, and I no longer have a position to offer you. I’m very sorry.”
“Dr. Norton, no worries,” Jasmine told her. “Actually, I’ve just accepted a position that I never dreamed would be available. So it worked out well for both of us, it seems.”
“Indeed.” The other woman smiled. “I wish you good fortune.”
“The same to you.”
The image faded. Jasmine got to her feet and walked out to the curb to hire transport back to the small apartment she’d wrangled from the meager savings her mother had left her, which hadn’t been entailed for her father’s debts. She still couldn’t believe her good fortune. It was the first happiness she’d felt since she and her late father had departed from Memcache. At least now she had the promise of work, and in a field she knew she was going to love. She couldn’t believe her good luck. It was such a wonderful coincidence that Chacon had come to Terravega and chanced to meet her in the airport. She fixed herself a cup of hot chocolate and sat down to drink it.
* * *
CHACON TOUCHED A control on his desk in the office aboard his flagship. The emperor’s face appeared a minute later.
“She accepted,” he told Tnurat.
The older alien smiled. “I am in your debt,” he said. “I have been racked with guilt over her father’s death. This, at least, will make things easier for her. I can easily afford her expenses...”
“Not necessary, sir,” the Rojok replied. “We have scholarships, and she will certainly qualify. Our military will cover her other expenses and her training. It will be interesting to see how this works out. A human female aboard a Rojok warship.” He chuckled. “I begin to see why you Cehn-Tahr value your warwomen so much. As a species, they are fascinating.”
“I must agree. You will keep me informed of her progress? Her life has been one of ease and wealth. It will be difficult for her to adjust.”
“She will have all the assistance she needs,” Chacon said. “Lyceria and I will make sure of it.”
“How is my daughter?”
Chacon’s eyes twinkled. “Very close to her delivery date. We are both nervous.”
Tnurat chuckled. “We all are, when the first child arrives. You will both cope.” He sighed. “Another grandchild. You give me a greater gift than you know.”
“It is a gift for me, as well,” Chacon replied gently. “I have been alone, apart, for many decades. The joy Lyceria has brought to my life is indescribable. And now a child. It is more than I ever dreamed of. I was not certain about a pregnancy. We are both Cularian species, but different in some ways. However, her physician assures us that there will be no difficulties with the delivery. She has done quite well up to now.”
“Your child will be unique,” Tnurat said. “Just as my other grandchildren are. There has never been a Cehn-Tahr mother of a Rojok child. You will make history. Again.” The older alien chuckled.
“I must confess that I sometimes miss the conflict of years past,” he said. “When Dtimun and I fought great battles first together and then against each other. He was a most worthy opponent across a space battleground.”
“My son would certainly echo that feeling,” Tnurat replied. “I must go and tell Caneese the news. Not to mention Dtimun and Madeline. We are all excited about the addition to our Clan.”
“No more than I am. I will be in touch again as soon as labor begins.”
“I will anticipate that.”
Tnurat broke the connection and sat back in his chair, his face sad and quiet. Jasmine sat heavily on his conscience. Mekashe’s grief was an almost-tangible thing. If Tnurat could make the child’s life even a little easier, it would help him bear the guilt he felt. He was grateful to Chacon for suggesting a solution to Jasmine’s problems after he’d voiced his regrets that she wouldn’t accept help from him. The Rojok soldier had felt a great sympathy for the child whose unruly tongue had brought her family to grief. When his investigation showed that the child was facing a life of poverty, and further queries turned up an interest in medicine and the military, it gave Chacon a solid idea.
Jasmine hadn’t wanted to go into the Terravegan military because she knew too much from her mother about the things that went on in the medical sector. Tnurat had tried to offer a scholarship, but it became quickly apparent that Jasmine hated the Cehn-Tahr and wanted nothing from them. Chacon’s offer had been accepted at once, and happily. It made Tnurat feel just a little better.
He went home to tell his family about Chacon’s good news. The other news, about Jasmine, as well as a covert mission he’d authorized to obtain biological samples from Professor Dupont’s body, was something he didn’t intend to share. There would be time to speak of it later, much later, when the bulk of Mekashe’s grief had eased. And when Tnurat’s conscience healed, just a little more.