The Morcai Battalion: The Pursuit

Mekashe smiled. “I knew of the emperor’s plan to allow such an embassy, but I had no knowledge of the person who would occupy the position. I am doubly honored to meet you. I hope that you and your daughter will be content on my planet.”

“It really is a coincidence.” Jasmine laughed, bubbling over with joy that her new friend lived on the very planet where her father would be stationed.

Mekashe smiled. “A delightful one.”

“Won’t you join us for dinner, young man?” the ambassador asked politely.

It was difficult to find a reason to refuse. He didn’t want to. But the Cehn-Tahr were not vegetarians, and they ate most of their meals in a form that would offend human sensitivities. “I would have enjoyed it, but I have a prior commitment. Perhaps another time? Since we all seem to be equally confined on this vessel for a matter of weeks, we may find many opportunities to speak together.”

“A true pleasure,” Ambassador Dupont said, smiling. “Do you play chess, by any chance?”

Mekashe chuckled. “In fact, I do. I was taught by a human physician.” He didn’t mention that the physician was a clone, Dr. Strick Hahnson, who was a founding member of the Morcai Battalion. He didn’t want to mention his military ties just yet. Better to let them see him as just an ordinary citizen of an alien world.

“I would enjoy a match. Perhaps tomorrow morning? As they reckon mornings aboard ship, at least,” Dupont added.

“Just past the breakfast hour would suit me well,” Mekashe said.

“I’ll see you then.”

“I wish you both a good evening.” Mekashe bowed once more, gave Jasmine a lingering smile and left them.

Ambassador Dupont looked concerned as he watched Mekashe walk away.

“Is something wrong?” Jasmine asked when she sat down across from her father.

“We know so little about the Cehn-Tahr,” he told her with an apologetic smile. “But I’ve heard rumors that they’re easily offended. So you must be careful about the subjects you discuss with him. No politics. No religion.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I never discuss politics. That’s your department, Daddy, not mine,” she said with a grin. “And religion is something I never discuss outside the family.”

“Good,” he replied. “I’m twitchy, I suppose. The first human ambassador ever to be invited to Memcache. I’m afraid of making a mistake and shaming our government.” He made a face. “There were plenty of people who thought I was a bad choice in the first place. ‘An academic,’ they said in horror, ‘what does he know about politics and interplanetary relations?’”

“I think you’re wonderful,” she said. “And you’ll do fine. I promise I won’t complicate things for you. But Mekashe is very good-looking,” she added with downcast eyes. “He doesn’t even seem to think that I’m flighty.” She looked up. “Maybe they don’t have flighty people where he comes from.”

He chuckled. “From all that I hear about them, and it’s precious little, they’re a pristine and moral people with a very strict society.”

“The emperor’s son is married to a human physician,” she related. “Well, a former physician—Dr. Madeline Ruszel. There was a flash piece about her on a newscast I watched on the Nexus. She was fascinating.”

“A true pioneer. A brigadier general—” he laughed “—and in command of a battalion of female troops. One of my colleagues almost fell over when the announcement was made. In the history of the Cehn-Tahr, there’s never been a female in the military.”

“They say the emperor indulges her.” She sighed. “What a life she’s had. And now she has two sons with her bonded mate!”

The ambassador didn’t mention one other thing he’d been told in confidence, that there was some hush-hush genetic structuring to permit that mingling of very different DNA strands. He knew that the Cehn-Tahr had never mated outside their species before. On the other hand, Chacon, the famous Rojok field marshal, now head of the Rojok government, had bonded with the emperor’s daughter, Lyceria. There were also rumors that the leader of their notorious Holconcom had bonded with a human female, as well.

It gave him comfort, because if the government on Memcache had that tolerant an attitude about racial mixing, it meant that he wouldn’t have to walk on so many eggshells in the performance of his duties.

Just the same, he was uncomfortable about his only child. Jasmine was a sweet and kind young woman, but her tongue ran away with her at the best of times. It would be a disaster if she blurted something out that offended the emperor. He’d heard horror stories about old Tnurat’s temper and the ease with which he took offense at any slight from outworlders.

But that might be an exaggeration. Until he actually met the people he’d be interacting with, it was just as well to ignore rumors and gossip and stick to facts.

“You’re so serious!” she chided.

He laughed self-consciously. “I suppose I am. I’m just nervous. I’ve never done anything quite like this. The president of Terravega himself nominated me for the position and forced it through the houses of government. I don’t want to let him down. I was given the post over several far more qualified professional politicians. The decision didn’t sit well with them,” he added with a sigh. “I suppose they’ll be hoping that I’ll trip and break my neck, leaving the job open for one of them.”

“You’ll be fine,” she repeated, smiling. “You’re so smart, Daddy. It’s why they gave you the job. You get along well with people, too. Diplomacy is one skill I’ve never been able to conquer. I keep hoping, but my tongue just flaps at both ends.” She laughed. “There I go again. Mekashe said he’d need a translator because of all the idioms I use.”

“Cehn-Tahr speak most alien tongues, even the rare dialects,” he replied. “I think he was just teasing you.”

“I wonder what he does?” she said aloud. “I mean, he dresses well and this is an expensive form of travel...”

“We’ll have plenty of time to find out in the weeks ahead,” he assured her. “Meanwhile, eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

She sighed as the table opened up and hot platters of food that they’d ordered from the foodcomp appeared as if by magic. The table folded back into itself with utensils and plates neatly placed and food arranged in the center.

“It’s magic.” Jasmine laughed as she watched. “I’d heard about these foodcomps, but I confess, I didn’t quite believe the gossip.”

“Tech is gaining ground in the galaxy,” he agreed. “I’ve heard some amazing things about Kolmankash on Memcache. It’s the most famous tech development center in the three galaxies. They say the tech there really is like magic.”

“What sort of tech?”

He shook his head. “Nobody knows. The Cehn-Tahr don’t share intimate knowledge of their culture with outworlders. All we get are whispers.”

“Maybe Mekashe would take us there one day, to see the tech for ourselves,” she said dreamily.

He raised both eyebrows. “Let’s live one day at a time and not rush things,” he said.

She sighed. “Okay. But it’s hard.”

“Many things are. And that’s the truth,” he agreed as he watched his coffee cup fill itself.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Jasmine dressed with great care, in a very correct leisure gown of flared pale yellow skirts and a modest bodice that laced in front, with tiny sleeves that just covered her shoulders. Her bare arms were softly rounded, her nails manicured and trimmed. She wore her hair long, instead of in its usual high coiffure. It curled and waved down her back and fell around her shoulders in a pale blond cascade. She wore tiny aqua waterstones hooked in her earlobes, and used the lightest hint of a floral cologne. She hoped she looked good enough to impress a certain handsome alien.

She and her father had finished breakfast and were lounging in the recreation center at a wall table when Mekashe joined them.

He wore a very correct suit, with a banded shirt of blue and white, and slacks that outlined his powerful legs. He smiled as Jasmine almost ran to meet him.

“You look very nice,” he commented.

“So do you!” she burst out without thinking, and then flushed at her own boldness. “Daddy’s got the chessboard set up already,” she added quickly, to hide her self-consciousness.

“Good morning,” the new ambassador greeted, standing long enough to give Mekashe a formal bow, which was returned.

“Daddy was chess champion of the college where he taught,” she said.

“Indeed. Impressive,” Mekashe said politely.

“Well, reputations are easily destroyed, I’m afraid.” The ambassador chuckled. “I daresay you’ll beat the socks off me without much effort.”

“Socks.” Mekashe looked blank.

“They’re worn on the feet with shoes. Casual shoes,” Jasmine explained. “A very ancient sort of apparel. It means that you’ll win.”

“An odd manner of expression. Apologies,” he added with a smile.

“None needed,” the older man assured him. “Most idioms are odd, and I’ve come across them in an amazing array of human languages.”

“Truly, we find them in alien tongues, as well,” Mekashe said. He chuckled, or what passed for chuckling in a Cehn-Tahr. “There are several dialects of Rojok, including a quite ancient one which was never spoken by a human until Dr. Edris Mallory came along.”

“Dr. Mallory?” the ambassador asked softly.

He nodded. “She was a Cularian specialist before she bonded with a Cehn-Tahr of my acquaintance.”

Jasmine’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard many stories about Dr. Madeline Ruszel, but they don’t mention Dr. Mallory in the flash reports.”

“As you may have already gathered, we share very little of our culture with—” he hesitated to offend by saying “outworlders” “—other cultures,” he said instead.

“I’m quite good at keeping secrets,” the ambassador said, smiling. He glanced at his child a little warily. “My daughter, however...”

“I can so keep a secret,” she said, and made a face at him. “Well, really important ones, at least. I’m so excited that we’re actually going to live on your planet!” she added to Mekashe.

He smiled. “I think you will find it quite beautiful.”

“Does it look like Terravega?” she asked at once.

He shook his head. “We have no pressure domes, nor is there a need for them.” He cocked his head at her. “If you would like to see Memcache, I can arrange for a holo of it in one of the rooms.”

“I would love that!” Jasmine enthused.

“You are also welcome to view it,” Mekashe told the ambassador easily, and smiled again. “It will help you to understand us if you see the manner in which we live.”

“But you said that you couldn’t share things with people outside your culture,” Jasmine began, puzzled.

“An ambassador and his family would hardly qualify as people outside,” he said gently. “Since you will be living among us. The taboo only applies to those who have no connection with us.”

“I see.” She beamed.

He was entranced by her beauty. He had thought her gorgeous the night before, but in the artificial light of “day,” she was even more exquisite. Her hair fascinated him. It was long and curling and glorious. He ached to touch it.

He cleared his throat as he seated himself across the chessboard from the human. “So,” he began. “Who goes first?”

* * *

JASMINE ENJOYED WATCHING the match. Mekashe won with staggering ease, but the ambassador was good-natured and didn’t seem to mind.

Meanwhile, Jasmine was filling her fascinated eyes with their guest. She’d never been so entranced by a male of any species. He had thick black hair. It had a definite wave to it. He kept it short, but she could imagine that if it had grown long, it might have the same curl that her own did.

He had a very muscular physique. She wondered what he did for a living, because he didn’t seem the sort of man to be a diplomat or even a sedate aristocrat. He had the hard, honed look of a man who made his living in ways that might not fit in parlor society.

She wondered at the quick look Mekashe gave her while she processed the thought, almost as if he read her mind. She laughed to herself. She’d never read that any of the Cehn-Tahr were telepaths. She was being fanciful.

“You’re quite skilled, young man,” the ambassador mused.

Mekashe laughed. He was, by human measure, over two hundred and fifty years old. The ambassador, in his forties, had no idea of the true life span of the race he was going to live among. Nor was it Mekashe’s place to tell him so much, not yet, at least. He could share images of Memcache, since the ambassador and his daughter would live there. He could even share common knowledge, like the ability of Cehn-Tahr eyes to change color. But anything more intimate was taboo.

“You have great skill yourself,” Mekashe replied. “But I have been playing for a longer time than you might imagine.”

The ambassador lifted an eyebrow and smiled secretly. He’d been told by Admiral Lawson that the Cehn-Tahr had somewhat modified life spans, and they put human age in the shade. He didn’t share the knowledge.

Mekashe read it and averted his eyes, so that he didn’t give away his telepathic abilities. “Another match?” he asked.

The ambassador chuckled and started setting up the pieces.

* * *

MEKASHE LEFT THEM just before luncheon was served, with the excuse that he had to report to his employer through the Nexus.

“What sort of work do you do?” Jasmine asked innocently.

“I am attached to the political wing of my society,” he said evasively, but with a smile. “My employer works at the Dectat.”

“I see.” She had no idea what a Dectat was.

“You seem disappointed,” he teased. “Did you think I might be secretly a pirate?”

She gasped and laughed out loud, beaming up at him. “Oh no. At least, I would never have said so...!”

“Liar,” he teased gently.

She flushed delightfully. “You just don’t seem like a man who does a desk job. That’s all,” she told him.

He wasn’t. She’d read him quite accurately, without knowing a thing about him. A good omen, perhaps.

He studied her with aching eyes. He wanted desperately to touch her, at least to brush that amazing hair with his fingertips and see if it was as soft as it looked. He couldn’t. There was no way...

He had a thought. Hahnson might know a way. The human physician had, in times long past, been bonded with a Cehn-Tahr female. Mekashe knew nothing about the relationship, but he did know that it had existed. He could contact Hahnson. It would not be taboo to speak with a man who had Cehn-Tahr citizenship and who was best friends with the emperor’s son about a delicate subject like that.

“You look odd,” Jasmine remarked.

“I’ve had a rather delightful thought,” he mused.

“Can I know what it is?”

He shook his head and smiled. “Not just yet. There is a lecture on comet patterns on the observation deck this evening. I plan to attend. If you and your father wish to join me...”

“We’d love to come!” she interrupted, certain that her father would find it fascinating. And she could be with Mekashe again.

He read that thought with utter delight. “Then I’ll see you on the observation deck just after dinner.”

“I’ll be there. With Daddy,” she added reluctantly.

The reluctance she displayed about her father’s presence made him feel warm inside. He made her a soft bow and left her, his mind whirling with possibilities.

CHAPTER TWO

MEKASHE HAD TO go through channels to get to Dr. Strick Hahnson aboard the Holconcom flagship, Morcai. That meant he had first to speak to its commander, his best friend, Rhemun.

“What are you doing aboard a commercial vessel?” Rhemun asked as the holon was initiated and his friend was standing in the room with him in a three-dimensional figure that could be interacted with. The avatar had the same flesh-and-blood reality as its original. They locked forearms in a show of affection.

“I have a problem,” Mekashe confessed, laughing. He reverted to his true form in the communication, not the almost-human-looking one he shared with outworlders. His true form was larger, taller, more massive than the camouflaged one. He had a face just a little more catlike than the familiar humanoid one that he showed to strangers, with a broad nose and a thick mane, and ears that were placed slightly differently than a human’s. There was no visible fur and he had no tail, as cats did. But the resemblance to a galot—the sentient cats of Eridanus Three—was notable, even if Cehn-Tahr were humanoid enough not to raise eyebrows in a crowd.

“What sort of problem?” Rhemun asked.

“One of the heart,” came the amused reply. “I told you when we were boys, about the visions I had...”

“...of a tall, willowy blonde human female, yes, I recall.” Rhemun gave a mock glare. “You thought it might be Edris, despite her lack of height.”

Mekashe laughed. “I must confess that I did. But I have now encountered the living vision.” He drew in a breath. “She is magnificent,” he added. “Beyond my dreams.”

Rhemun cocked his head. “And this is a problem?”

“We have only just met,” his friend replied, dropping into a chair beside Rhemun’s desk. “I do not wish to rush things. The emperor forced me to take a civilian mode of transport,” he began.

“Yes, because you refuse R & R and he thinks you push yourself too hard. Your lieutenant is performing admirably in your absence.”

“Just as well, because I now have no desire to rush home. However, she will be coming with me when I arrive.” He grinned at his friend’s surprise. “Her father is our new Terravegan ambassador.”

Rhemun burst out laughing. “Now, that is a true coincidence,” he remarked.

“As I thought, also.” He drew in a long breath. “So, as you see, I must go carefully forward. I feel an attraction that I do not wish to get out of hand. I want to approach Hahnson for advice,” he added. “But for that, I must have your permission. And your promise of silence.”

“The emperor will know,” Rhemun began.

Mekashe pulled out a small, glowing white ball. It would conceal thoughts from a telepath, even one as formidable as old Tnurat. “This is an innovation on the original design,” he confessed. “I must not announce my feelings to the emperor just yet.”

Rhemun understood. “There will be no issue,” he said. “The emperor reveres humans since Madeline Ruszel has given him two beautiful grandchildren.”

“Still, I must not rush things. I belong, as you do, to the Royal Clan. There are rumors, and only rumors, that too much mixing with the humans might provoke difficulties in the Dectat.”

Rhemun smiled. “Not as long as Tnurat rules. Did you not hear that he punched the president of the Dectat for an altercation with Dtimun over Ruszel’s rescue when her ship crashed on Akaashe?”

Mekashe chuckled. “I did, indeed. That is a long-standing feud.”

“Both are stubborn.”

“Good leaders.”

“Agreed.” Rhemun got up. “You have my permission to speak to Hahnson, and I promise not to mention it until you give me equal permission.” He chuckled. “Will that do?”

“Indeed it will.”

“I wish you great good fortune with the ambassador’s daughter. And I look forward to meeting her, as well.”

“How is Edris?” Mekashe asked.

“Recovering very well. Would you like to see our daughter?” he added.

“Yes!”

Rhemun pulled out a miniature holo and held it up. There was a tiny, black-headed baby in the cradle of her beaming mother’s arms. Edris, looking as lovely as ever before, and Kipling, their son, standing beside his mother, grinning.

“This is Larisse,” he said with pride.

“A delightful child! She will look more like you than Kipling does, I think,” Mekashe commented.

“I think so, as well. She is the light of my life already, as my son and my mate already were.” The little girl was only the second female born into Clan Alamantimichar in thousands of years. Princess Lyceria was the first.

“I rejoice in your good fortune,” Mekashe said. “And I look forward to rejoicing in my own!”

“Speak to Hahnson. I’ll see you before you leave, yes?”

“Of course!”

* * *

STRICK HAHNSON LOOKED more like a wrestler than a physician. He had been with the Morcai Battalion since its creation, in the horror of the Rojok death camp, Ahkmau. At least, his original had been. The true Hahnson was tortured and killed by the Rojoks, who were trying to find an almost fatally ill Dtimun hidden in the camp by his cellmates. Dtimun had cloned the physician for Captain Holt Stern and Dr. Madeline Ruszel as recompense for snatching them out of the Terravegan Strategic Space Command and into the ranks of his newly formed Morcai Battalion. It had been a bittersweet reunion. Stern, too, was a clone. In the old days, the two of them would never have been able to return to Terravegan society because they were clones. There was a terrible prejudice there. But the emperor, out of gratitude for their help in saving his son, had given all the humans of the Morcai Battalion Cehn-Tahr citizenship. The clones of the Holconcom, and the human ones, had meshed quite well together.

Hahnson looked up, surprised to see Mekashe walking into his lab. He grinned and locked forearms. “What a nice surprise,” he enthused. “How in the world did you get here without the ship alerting everybody?”

“The holon,” Mekashe said easily, and with a smile. Hahnson was one of only a handful of humans who knew about the holon tech. “I have a very personal matter to discuss.”

“Still amazes me,” Strick said, walking around the Tri-D3-d image to study Mekashe. “I can even touch you,” he added, doing it, “and you feel real.”

“It suffices, when mates are separated,” the other male remarked wickedly.

“Well, sit down. How are you liking your new job? And why are you here?”

Mekashe took out the white noise ball and put it on the table. “New tech,” he told Hahnson. “It can even block the emperor. You did not hear me say this, because I am not here.”

“Absolutely,” Hahnson agreed, grinning.

“You were bonded to a Cehn-Tahr during the end of the Great Galaxy War, were you not?” Mekashe asked, very solemnly. “I apologize for bringing up such a painful subject,” he added quickly when he saw the look on Hahnson’s face.

“It was a long time ago.” Hahnson took a deep breath. “I have all the memories of my original, including that one. She was a suicide. After all the years in between, it still is an agony to remember.”

“A suicide?” Mekashe asked, stunned.

“You didn’t know. It’s all right. Only a very few people do.” He sat down. “It’s something I don’t talk about. But, yes, we were bonded.”

“Which is why I’m permitted to discuss something quite intimate with you,” Mekashe hastened to add. “You know what rigid rules of culture permeate our society.”

“I do,” the other male said.

Mekashe locked his hands together and studied them. “I have met a female. A human.” He managed a faint smile. “For many years, I had a vision of such a human. I knew her, without knowing her, almost all my life. I thought at first that Edris Mallory was her personification. But in my visions, the female found me equally attractive, and Edris had eyes only for Rhemun.” He lifted his eyes to Hahnson’s. “Now I have met the true female, the one from the visions. She is everything I knew, all that I expected. But the attraction I feel for her is growing too quickly. I have no desire to frighten her or shock her. Like most humans, she has no idea about the mating rituals, how deadly they can be to other males. I want to touch her.” He bit off the words and made a face, like a grimace. “But I dare not. I was wondering, hoping, that there might be some bit of medical tech that could permit touch without the danger of triggering a mating behavior.”

“I think I have just what you need,” Hahnson said, moving to his medicomp. “In fact, you’re in luck, because this is cutting-edge tech, only just released. It was meant for diplomatic use, but I understand that it has been employed covertly for a number of other reasons.”