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Weapons were customary for the warrior caste, but a warrior or equivalent being unarmed around others wasn't considered an insult, the way it was in the Traiti Sector; they could have disarmed him without dishonoring him. Something to eat seemed like a good idea, so he left his cabin and started exploring. Almost immediately, he ran into the w'woman who'd taken part in the interrogation.
"Both personally and as a Prince of the Empire, I think it's great as long as you're not fighting the Empire you're rightfully part of." "Ryan has to know about this," Kelly said. "Haley, would you please inform him and ask him to join us?" "Yes, lady." Haley stood and bowed to her, then left. "Is it really that bad?" Medart asked the w'woman as soon as the young warrior was out of hearing.
When she was able to see again, Jason was gone and the w'woman was standing over her, cleaning her cheek. Dana raised the head of her bed, trying to think. Her thakur her former thakur had admitted seeking her death, but he had that right; a 'na's gift of @self was absolute.
Nevan was tempted, but he shook his head. He'd have to leave as soon as he could; now that his cover was blown, he had no choice but to give up this try and start over. "I'm afraid I have to get back to Terra." Morna nodded, glancing at the synthiskin-covered cheek. "Of course; I didn't realize. But when you do, promise me that you'll find a w'woman or warrior and get a decent natural release."
The doctor went to a wall cabinet, prepared an injector, and used it, then left as her patient fell asleep again. Dana didn't recognize the w'woman who was in her room the next time she woke, but she didn't have time to ask for an introduction; she saw her thakur sitting beside her bed, scanning a tape. Monitors apparently alerted the w'woman; she turned to Jason. "Your 'na is waking, Mr. Jason.
Dana could understand only an occasional word of that variant of Classical Russian, though she could read and write it fluently; all she could gather was that the w'woman was asking for the Alanna. A few moments later, a man wearing the arms of Alanna's chief appeared on the screen, introducing himself as Killian.
I would like him to call a conference of all available on-planet clan-chiefs as soon as possible, for that purpose." "May I give him details?" "Show him the tape I just watched; that will be more than enough." "Yes, Chief." The w'woman went to the Bench and took the tape, then left. "Please stand, Ms.
Dana went as cold as his voice had been, wishing she had died back in the mountains, never had to hear this. "Mister Jason!" the w'woman snapped. He turned back. "Yes? You don't approve?" "I do not, but I cannot interfere between thakur and 'na. So long as you both live and she wears your mark, however, she is yours; no one else may be involved in what you order for her." "Oh? All right."
That meant she might live seven or eight, depending on how badly the beating had weakened her. "Do you understand?" Arden asked. Dana turned to the w'woman, fear growing as her shock faded. "What's in the text-tapes, yes. Not the details of the . . . execution." "Those can vary; they depend on the clan-chief." Arden looked almost sympathetic, Dana thought.
Dana licked her lips, fear beginning to emerge from her stunned misery, but her mouth was so dry it was little help. "I should talk to them myself, I suppose at least if they'll talk to me but I can't dial the phone. Would you, please?" The w'woman nodded. "What clan?" "I don't think it matters that much," Dana said. "Alanna first, if I have to pick one.
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