The Iisleg, the people of my homeworld of Akkabarr, never believed in peace. The word itself has no meaning in their language. They name the time between conflicts as either malatkinin, an opportunity to recover from the last battle, or kininharkal, the chance to prepare for the next.
Until this moment, I thought I had left that sort of idiocy behind on my homeworld.
“You can’t do this.”
The dark blue faces of the three males watching me remained impassive as I rose from the conference table and moved around the room. Someone clever had worked hundreds of t’vessna flowers into various arrangements, doubtless to honor my return. I plucked one small purple flower from a hanging silver basket and held it to my nose. The sweet fragrance calmed me a little.
I had been brought here after my husband and I returned to Joren, the homeworld of my adopted people, and landed our scout vessel Moonfire at HouseClan Torin’s main transport. I had been told the meeting was some sort of official welcome. Instead, I had been treated to an intense round of questioning, and informed of what amounted to a declaration of war on another world.
“Healer Torin.”
They didn’t like my moving around; they wanted me where they could see my face. I returned to the table. “You can’t do this,” I repeated. “Over two thousand beings live on that colony.”
“Your pardon, Healer Torin, but we must.” Malaoan Adan, the Jorenian Ruling Council’s chief legal adviser, was the oldest of the three, judging by the number of purple streaks running through his braided black hair. He spoke slowly and carefully, both to project the gravity of the situation and so that the vocollar translation device I wore around my neck converted his words correctly into Iisleg, an obscure form of Terran, the only language I understood. “This matter has now become a legal issue.”
“How so?” I knew almost nothing about Jorenian law, but as I remained one of Joren’s chosen rulers, I saw no reason to confess that. “I have related to you everything that happened to me and my husband.”
“I must respectfully question your account of the events, Healer.” Volea, HouseClan Torin’s chief of security, wore his solid black hair in a warrior’s knot, and had several healed scars on his face from blades, pulse burns, and impact injuries.
If they doubted me, they had some reason to do so. “On what basis?”
Volea consulted the datapad in his hand. “According to the information retrieved from the Moonfire’s database, your ship did not make an emergency landing; it was fired upon and crashed. Audio records indicate that you and your bondmate were forcibly removed by drones not under your command.”
“You have interpreted the data incorrectly.” I was glad my husband had survived our ordeal on Trellus, because as soon as I saw him, I was going to kill him. “While we were journeying through space, my husband and I ran some simulations of those scenarios. The database and the audio records must have been damaged during the emergency landing, or they would indicate that.”
Volea shifted in his seat. “Healer, biodecon scans performed on the Sunlace revealed new tissue that would indicate you and your bondmate sustained multiple recently healed injuries.”
“Reever and I both acquired some minor flesh wounds while running the simulations.” I smiled. “Our bruises and scratches were no more serious than what one would sustain during a practice sparring match with a drone opponent.”
“You did not fight a drone,” said Xonea, my adopted ClanBrother and captain of the Sunlace. The largest of the three males, he commanded attention, although I hadn’t given him much. Xonea troubled me for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the ominous suppressed emotion glittering in his white-within-white eyes. “We detected Sovant’s DNA embedded in your garments. What say you tell us how you simulated that?”
I thought of the alien predator I had helped to capture and exterminate on the quarantined colony of Trellus. It had been a voracious, horrific thing that had possessed the bodies of sentient beings, destroying their minds and then masquerading as their prey while devouring them from the inside out. I could not tell them that Reever and I had been forced down on the planet to serve as bait for it.
“That was likely from some form of accidental contact.” I clamped down on my rising temper. “We could have brushed up against something already contaminated with the DNA.”
“Indeed.” Xonea flattened his six-fingered hands on the table and leaned forward.