Second Contact (Okal Rel Saga #1)

Chapter 18.8 - Okal Rel

Take care of Eva! Ranar thought to himself testily. If this were Rire, he would be receiving medical attention himself! He had been punched and threatened, frightened and forced to witness murder, and now he was supposed to be looking after Di Mon's lyka? It was an unworthy thought, but his first reaction was to wonder if she meant more to Di Mon than he did.

Other explanations were possible: like expecting another man to stand surrogate in defense of a vulnerable woman. Although given what he had seen of Vrellish culture it was more likely Sevolite paternalism toward a commoner, in which case Ranar should be flattered. Stop analyzing! Ranar told himself, afraid that he was simply jealous. Gelion seemed intent on making him suffer feelings he could not respect.

Eva was unconscious, he wasn't. That was the simple explanation.

Since no first responders had put in an appearance, Ranar knelt with a self-pitying moan and did what he could to assess Eva's condition. An ugly red mark on her face showed where she had been hit. He pulled back an eyelid. He wasn't entirely sure what to look for, but suspected it was a good sign that her pupils looked normal to him. He still wasn't sure if he should move her. What if her neck or spine were injured? Her legs were warm, but he didn't think that proved anything. If she had sprawled over one of the throw rugs he could have pulled her out at minimal risk. But she hadn't.

"Law and Reason," Ranar grumbled in Reetion, and climbed painful back to his feet again. Should he try to get help? If so, from where? His side ached. His knee hurt. Blood was drying on his temple from a cut made by somebody's ring. Shouldn't somebody be looking after him?

"Tell me what happened, Reetion," a voice said in English.

Ranar jerked and spun, feeling his injured knee wobble until he shifted his weight evenly again. Balous, the gorarelpul, was sitting up, looking shaken, with the needle gun back in his hand again.

"Tell me!" Balous insisted.

"People have been killed," Ranar said, "as you can see."

"Where is the child?" Balous demanded, and remembered. "Thoth! Where has he taken him?"

The foggy idea Ranar had earlier, became clear.

"You said too much while Thoth was listening," Ranar told him. "You were too eager to brag to me, trusting your English would be incomprehensible to anyone who overheard, and your master is going to pay. You have betrayed Delm."

Balous bubbled out a huffy sound. "You're bluffing," he said. "Besides, what if I do like to brag to my victims? It does Delm no harm. I do not have to like him, just serve. You've no idea how hard it is cleaning up his messes! He wants this woman, that woman, a flag ship, a sperm sample collected, a child murdered!" Balous scowled petulantly. "He's supposed to be a Soul of Light." He frowned. "Such things do not help maintain the image. And who else can I complain to but the victims that I am about to kill?" He sighed. "Now, since I'm feeling much better and you're getting boring—" Balous raised the needle gun and fired. But his hand was shaking, allowing Ranar to throw himself down in time. The bolt zipped over his head and fell harmlessly. Ranar wondered, more than academically, if it was poisoned. Balous cursed him as he loaded another bolt.

Wails and shouts erupted from the stairwell. Cries of disaster and terror.

Balous froze and went pasty white. "No," he whispered, disbelieving. He tried to get up, forgetting about Ranar. A man came pounding up the stairs followed by a thin stampede of ladies, all wide-eyed and whispering in awestruck voices with handkerchiefs clutched to their faces. A couple were in floods of tears.

"It's the Ava!" the lead man told Balous. "The Ava's been assassinated!"

The needle gun dropped from the gorarelpul's fingers. "No," he said again, in fear, and dropped on one knee. "I didn't mean it!" he wailed, clutching at his head. He tried to stagger toward the stairs to get down, gasping and looking — to Ranar's satisfaction — as if his conscience bond was bothering him. The tide was against him. Some people gave way to him, some didn't. More and more of them were pressing in.