Title: Youngling - A Terran Empire story
Author: Wilson, Ann
Language: English
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YOUNGLING

A Terran Empire Story

by Ann Wilson



Copyright (C) 1992 by Ann Wilson



Unnamed world, 2559 CE


Joste was waiting in front of his desk when two guards brought the
just-captured human into his office.  He found it hard to look at the
man without becoming physically ill, and wondered briefly how the
guards could tolerate touching him.  Well, that was their job; his was
to question the man, and he found himself hoping the foul thing would
resist, give him an excuse to use force.

It wasn't because the other was human, or because he was an enemy--Joste
had questioned prisoners before without having had the slightest desire
to use physical persuasion--and the man looked no more repulsive than
any other human.  Granted, he was dirty and his battledress was torn,
but that was to be expected from someone who had been in combat.  And,
though he was bound, the man held himself proudly.

No, the revulsion wasn't caused by anything so straightforward.  It was
what the man had done--  Joste's thoughts shied away from consideration
of such obscenity, and he had to force them back.  Simply endangering
females without dire need was enough to earn a dishonorable death; they
were so terribly few, less than a fourth of the Traiti race, cherished
for themselves and honored for the young only they could bear--a thing
that happened less often than any could wish.

And this monster had actually led females into combat!

He brought himself under control; the grammar and harsh sounds of
Imperial English were difficult enough without having to fight emotion
at the same time.  "Yourself identify," he growled.

"Major Horst Marguerre, Imperial Terran Marine Corps."  It didn't look
at all good for him, Marguerre thought grimly.  These huge gray-skinned
humanoids were aggressive as hell--they were nicknamed Sharks as much
for that as for the facial resemblance--and this one looked even less
well-intentioned toward him than his guards did.  "My ident code's
TERHE6-2063-4121.  What're you doing with my wounded?"

"They are medical treatment receiving," Joste said.  "Though there
little chance for their recovery is, the physicians their best doing
are."  At least, he thought, the man had the decency to show concern--
even if it had to be false concern--for the two survivors of his
raiding party, both of whom were female.  "What your purpose was, here
coming?"

Marguerre didn't know what caused the loathing he could sense from the
three massive Traiti, but it was intense enough to frighten him in
spite of almost a year's active combat.  Still, fear or no fear, he
wasn't about to tell them what they wanted to know.  He shook his head.
"Sorry, that's all I'm allowed to say."

Then he winced as the one holding his shoulder and neck tightened that
grip, and the one doing the questioning started to smile.  This, to put
it mildly, looked less and less like it was going to be a friendly
party, and he was suddenly very thankful he'd been given the
anti-interrogation conditioning before this mission.  Not that he intended
to use it unless he had no other choice.

Good, Joste thought.  The man was going to be stubborn.  "You mine now
are, Major, and you will much more say.  When you have enough pain had,
you will to me gladly speak."  Slowly, almost luxuriously, he reached
for the man, extending his claws.

Marguerre tasted fear, his mouth bitter-dry as he watched the clawed
gray hand approach.  He remained still, though he could feel himself
going pale. He'd expected death if the mission failed, but not like
this--not being tortured for information while two of his people lay
badly wounded in a Traiti military hospital.  He knew his interrogator
was right; everyone had a breaking point.  He could only hope they'd
kill him before he came so close to his own that he'd have to activate
the conditioning.  He preferred to meet death knowing who he was.

A sudden flashing movement of Joste's claws ripped the tough material
of the human's shirt to ribbons, exposing the soft undershirt.  A
single claw took care of that, still without breaking thin human skin.
"Why did you here come?" Joste asked softly.  "Now say, and yourself
much pain save.  You no honor have to lose."

Now what the hell did he mean by that, Marguerre wondered.  Not that it
really mattered, under the circumstances.  "Forget it.  I'm a Marine,
not a traitor."  His muscles were tensed in anticipation, but it didn't
help much. He gasped and flinched anyway when the claws touched his
flesh, digging in and across, drawing blood.

Joste was fully aware of human frailty, and was being far gentler than
he cared to, but he was still startled at the amount of blood welling
from such shallow wounds.  He would have to be even more careful; if he
weren't, this Marguerre might bleed to death before giving him the
information he needed. It might be best to use fists or slaps instead
of claws or teeth, at least for the most part, until the time came to
execute the man.

"Why?" he asked again.

"Go to hell," Marguerre snarled.

"We do not that belief hold," Joste said calmly.  "And if either of us
to such a place going is, it will you be.  I have never a female to her
death sent."

"And I have.  So?  Nobody forced them to join the Marines, or apply for
Special Forces.  They knew what they were getting into.  Every last one
of them's a volunteer."

Joste growled in disgust.  The human must think him a fool, to expect
him to believe such nonsense!  The only time a female fought was in
last-ditch defense of the clan, something that hadn't happened since
the clan wars almost four thousand years ago.  "You lie, human."

Marguerre shrugged, awkwardly because of his bound hands, but said no
more.  He'd already said more than he should have; he knew the best way
to avoid giving anything away by accident was to remain silent except
for the required identification information.

"Enough of that," Joste said.  He'd not discuss females more with this
perverted filth.  "Now you will me truth give.  Why came you here?"

      *      *      *      *      *

It was almost dark, and Joste was becoming discouraged.  The man,
except for sounds of pain, had remained silent.  He was sprawled on the
floor now, naked except for his own blood, his hands no longer bound
because he no longer had hands to bind.

Yet he was trying to rise, had actually made it to his knees with his
wrists pressed against his chest and his head bowed to hide empty eye
sockets, in a sickening parody of one paying homage to the Lords.

Marguerre knew he was done.  The pain, the maiming, were too much
. . . and his tormentor wasn't going to allow him to die by accident.
He had to activate the conditioning or buy his death with the information
the Traiti wanted.  For a Marine, that was no real choice--but there was
one thing he wanted to make absolutely clear before he went out.
"Joste . . ."

"Speak, human."

"You said . . . I've got no honor."  Marguerre raised his head, faced
the sound of Joste's voice.  "Maybe not . . . your kind, I don't know.
I'd . . . hoped you'd miscalculate . . . kill me clean . . . 'fore it
came to this.  Now I just want you . . . t'be certain . . . I do know
what I'm doing."  He straightened as much as he was able, drew in
breath, and forced himself to speak the single short phrase he'd
chosen.  Hearing himself say it, deliberately, would wipe out Major
Horst Marguerre.

Nonsense syllables, Joste thought.  "'Twas brillig, and the slithy
toves"?

For a space of seconds, there was no sound--then Marguerre collapsed
with the heart-rending wail of a hurt, terrified youngling, to lie
sobbing brokenly at Joste's feet.

Stunned, the interrogator could only stare, then he dropped to one knee
beside the bloody form.  "Human . . . what wrong is?"

The face that turned toward him had nothing of the proud Marine in it,
only pain and fear.  The man had said he knew what he was doing--what
had he done?  Whatever it was, there was clearly no point in
questioning him further. With a sigh, Joste picked up his prisoner and
stood.

Unbelievably, that seemed to comfort the man.  He nestled closer to
Joste's chest, and the sobs slowed to whimpers, then ceased.  His
breathing showed he had gone to sleep.

Joste and the guards exchanged amazed glances.  "What did you do to
him, Group-Leader?" the younger one asked.

"I did nothing, Sedni.  What has happened to him was his own choice, he
said.  He had hoped to die before this became necessary."  Joste looked
down at his burden, troubled by the man's sudden change.  "He resisted
me with all his will, yet now he clings to me for comfort, as a newborn
clings to its mother.  He seems not to know me any longer, perhaps not
to know himself."

"As one who has lost all memory?" the older guard asked.

"I think . . . not lost," Joste said slowly.  "He told me he knew what
he was doing, and I believe him."

"What, then?"

"I cannot be sure yet . . . but he fought me as well as he was able,
though he must have known he had no way to win, and I denied him the
escape of death.  Had he lacked honor as I thought, he would have
spoken in an effort to live--but he did not."  Joste hesitated.  He had
underestimated the man; perhaps Marguerre had spoken the truth earlier.
Perhaps he had truly felt no dishonor in leading females into combat--a
thing that was difficult to believe, but so was his sudden change from
a defiant Marine to a sobbing . . . what? "Not lost," Joste repeated
thoughtfully.  "Far worse, if what I begin to suspect is true.  It
would appear that he destroyed his mind rather than betray his people."

"Not even a human would go that far!" Sedni exclaimed, his voice
shaken.

"I would prefer a more acceptable idea myself," Joste said.  Death came
to everyone, soon or late; in the long run, it was unavoidable, and at
times a self-inflicted death was the only way to preserve honor--far
preferable to the alternative of living dishonored.  The idea of
someone destroying his own mind, though--even for the same purpose--was
one that made the Traiti interrogator recoil.  Still, at this point it
was only a possibility, not a certainty.  Joste glanced at the human
again, then began giving orders.  "Chorvak, call the hospital and tell
them I'm bringing in an emergency patient.  And find out if either of
the females survived and is able to talk. Sedni, go to Communications
and have them stand by for a possible priority call to N'chark clanhome
on Norvis.  I may need to talk to Ka'ruchaya Jarna."

Both saluted, and Sedni left while Chorvak went to Joste's desk to make
the call.  The interrogator left as well, carrying the sleeping human.

Within minutes he had covered the short distance to the hospital and
was putting the mangled man on an emergency surgical table.  Marguerre
seemed to partially awaken when Joste put him down, whimpering softly
until the duty surgeon gave him a sedative.

"What's wrong with him?" the surgeon asked.  "Aside from the obvious, I
mean."

"I am not certain," Joste told him.  "I am not even sure I really want
to know, but I must check.  Give him support treatment until I can,
please."

      *      *      *      *      *

Chorvak was waiting when Joste left the surgery.  "The tiny
dark-skinned female is dead, Group-Leader," he reported, "but the bigger
pale one's injuries were less serious than the physicians originally
thought; she is alive and regaining consciousness.  They will allow you
to speak to her as long as you keep it brief and do not excite her."

"Thank you, Chorvak.  I will be careful."

The hospital was small, so it didn't take long for the two to get to
the room assigned to the human woman.  Joste went in alone, took a seat
by her bed.  "Ka'naya Marine, may I with you speak?"

"Uh?"  She looked at him, clearly still groggy and trying to focus.
"Wha' 'bout?"

Joste puzzled over that momentarily, then he figured out the slurred
words.  "About Major Horst Marguerre, ka'naya.  When I was him
questioning, he something said that did not English seem, a code of
some sort, I think.  Then he cried out, and like a youngling wept.  Can
you me tell, what to him happened?"

She seemed to rouse at Marguerre's name.  "Something not English?  But
he doesn't know any other language--"  Then her eyes widened, and she
looked sick.  "Blood . . . is it his?"

Joste's silence answered her.  Tears leaked out of her eyes and she
swore tiredly.  "Damn you, you bastard Shark.  What'd you do to break
him?"

"Ask me that not, ka'naya.  The answer would only you distress, and he
is help now getting.  But I must know, when he those strange words
said, what he by them meant.  What they to him did."

"Maybe I'd rather not know, at that."  She scowled.  "What'll you do to
him if I tell you?"

"If it what I fear is, I will my Ka'ruchaya--you have not the term,
female parent to the clan--ask, him to adopt.  N'chark will for him
care."

"Clan mother.  But he's human--why would you do that?"

"He something to himself did, that him into the likeness of a youngling
turned.  If that likeness a true one is, then he must a youngling's
safety and guidance given be."  He paused for a moment.  "And it my
opinion is, that what he did was from honor done."

"It was.  I'm not sure I believe you, but telling you what happened
can't make it any worse for him.  Okay, you're right.  The words
themselves're meaningless, they were only triggers for anti-interrogation
conditioning, a total mind-wipe.  Didn't bother anything
else, like intelligence, just memory. It's a new technique, but a lot
of us already have it . . ."  She turned her head away briefly, then
went on.  "You could say he has the mind of a newborn child in an adult
body.  Who was the first person he saw after he . . . blanked out?"

"He has no one seen."

"I can guess why."  She grimaced.  "Damn.  Okay, who was the first one
he heard?  If he can still hear."

"He can, ka'naya.  And I the first was."

She gave him a mocking grin.  "Hi, Daddy.  If the psychs were right,
he's fixated on you, now.  How do you feel about taking care of
babies?"

In spite of the dismay he felt at her confirmation of his worst
suspicion, Joste couldn't help a smile.  "Ka'naya Marine, I have only
once the joy had, of sharing young.  Say you he will truly me as
es'chaya see?  Male parent?"

"Father?"  The Marine's grin softened into an answering smile at his
obvious sincerity.  "Not exactly.  That, yes, but more.  He's your
child--yours alone--unless he heard someone else about the same time he
heard you."

"There no one was, ka'naya.  He in my arms asleep was, before another
spoke.  I your leave to go must ask; I should Ka'ruchaya Jarna call."

She looked worried.  "Okay, I guess you will take care of Major
Marguerre. But what'll happen to me?  So far I've been treated all
right, but I'm afraid that won't--"

"Ka'naya!" Joste interrupted, horrified by what she was implying.  "You
need nothing fear.  You will guarded be, of course, but no harm will to
you come! We not like humans twisted are, a female to hurt without
great need."

As her expression began to show relief, Joste gave her a courteous
salute and left for the Communications section.  Sedni wasn't the only
one waiting there for him; so was his commander, Senior Group-Leader
Kunnos.

"Sedni briefed me," Kunnos said.  "May I listen to your call?"

"Of course, Group-Leader."  It wasn't usually 'of course,' but Joste
had served under Kunnos for a long time, long enough to trust his
discretion even in N'chark's clan matters.

Clan priority traffic got the same treatment as military
communications, so it didn't take long for the operator to make
ultrawave contact with N'chark clanhome, then leave to join Sedni.  Nor
did it take long, once contact was made, for Ka'ruchaya Jarna to appear
on the comscreen.  Joste greeted her formally, crossing arms over his
chest and inclining his head. Kunnos followed suit, bowing more deeply
as befit an out-clan male.

Jarna acknowledged the greeting, then looked curiously at Joste.
"Ruesten, you have won the Honor scars; what problem can you have so
serious that it requires my intervention?"

"Ka'ruchaya, it is a matter of adoption."

"Ah, I see.  Go on."

Joste did as he was told, describing the human's torment, memory loss,
and what the female Marine had told him.  "Maybe he was being honest
when he said the females volunteered for combat.  Certainly the one I
spoke to showed pain at his hurt.  And he did prove himself honorable,
sacrificing his mind--himself--as he did.  Ka'ruchaya, he needs help,
and I think that once he learns our ways, he will be a credit to
N'chark."

"He lost only his memory?"

"Yes, Ka'ruchaya, according to the female Marine."

"And she called him your 'child,' your esten."  Jarna paused, thinking.
"No, Cor'naya Joste.  Under the circumstances, I do not think adoption
either possible or necessary; he cannot take the blood-oath if he
cannot understand it.  He is a Terran, and apparently newborn by their
ways, regarding you as chaya.  I accept him as es'ruesten, a clan-son
of N'chark by birth.  Care for him, see that he gets the medical help
he needs--including regrowth treatments if they are available there--
and bring him home as soon as he is able to travel.  If you wish, I
will arrange for his naming ceremony."

"Thank you, Ka'ruchaya.  Let him be named Horst, of Clan N'chark."

"So be it, Cor'naya Joste."  Jarna turned to Kunnos.  "I will send a
ship for them, Group-Leader.  Will you need a linguist to replace
Joste?"

"If you please, Ka'ruchaya.  Stanek, if he has recovered."

"He will be on the ship."  Jarna's expression became grim.  "But hear
my words, Group-Leader: none of my n'ruesten will force another to this
living self-destruction again.  I will not have them dishonor
themselves so."

"I would not ask it, Ka'ruchaya," Kunnos said.  "I will report this to
the Supreme, with the recommendation that he order any found to have
similar conditioning questioned no further."  He extended claws to
emphasize his determination.  "I have no wish to be part of such
dishonor, either."

"Well said, Group-Leader."  Jarna inclined her head.  "Now if you will
excuse me, I must return to my duties."

The two males bowed, then when the screen cleared, left the
Communications section.  Joste made his way back to the hospital to
check on his child, wondering at the Lords' ordering of things.  The
human and he had met as enemies, and Joste had taken angry pleasure in
his torment.  But now Horst was of N'chark, he would be raised as such
. . . and this time, Joste vowed, Horst would be raised with a proper
respect for females and younglings.



END





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