Part 18 (1/2)
”They support the structure of our society.”
Lamos shrugged. ”That's no concern of mine.”
”Isn't it? You're happy enough to live at the expense of the state, Lord Lamos.
What would happen if suddenly the government didn't support your indulgence?
Would you be so smug then?” He pointed to the other's hands in frank incre- dulity. ”This is beyond indulgence. This is beyond personal pleasure. We do not display our skin before commoners-”
”Ah.” Lamos glanced at his hands as he stroked the palm of one with the forefinger of the other. ”It bothers you that my hands are naked.”
The dark eyes smoldered, but Zatar's voice was calm. ”We've all seen men ungloved, if that's what you mean. You didn't invent s.e.xual diversity, you know.
Must you make this harder than it has to be?”
Again Lamos shrugged. He was beginning to enjoy himself. ”I've done nothing.”
”Exactly the problem.”
”Kaim'era, there are no laws in question here-only some vague and outdated customs which I happen not to care for. I'm no commonblood, you know. You can't just . . . push me around because you don't like my style. Legally, you have nothing on me.” There! It was said.
”This is true. And I haven't come to criticize you personally, although you certainly inspire it. The point is this: the Kaim'erate has given formal consideration to your right to live as you're doing, and we have decided that it's not within our power to pa.s.s official judgment on you-you, personally.”
Smugly, Lamos waited.
”However, we have decided that a.s.suring the image of future generations is within our jurisdiction. And so, on behalf of the Kaim'erate of the B'Saloan Holding under Braxi/Aldous, I am here to inform you that you will be required to turn over your son to a more traditional House, in order that he might receive the upbringing which is his birthright.”
Lamos paled. ”What?”
Zatar's expression was unreadable. ”I think you heard me.”
”You can't be serious. They can't be serious. Give up my son? It's unheard of!” .
Zatar waited.
”I won't have it! I won't!”
The Kaim'era's voice was loaded with quiet threat. ”Shall I tell the others that you mean to oppose our decision?”
”No . . . no, I didn't mean that.”
”Then I should perhaps tell them you mean to oppose our right to make such a decision.”
”Yes . . . I mean, no!” Lamos was alarmed. Nowhere in Braxin history was there a precedent for anyone successfully standing up to the Kaim'erate. The rulers of Braxi, notoriously suspicious regarding the motives of their own kind, never failed to ally when their power was threatened. For Lamos to oppose them would be folly, if not outright suicide.
”Kaim'era Zatar, you don't understand. . . .”He searched for the proper words, but at last had to settle for, ”He's my son.”
It was Zatar's turn to smile.
Lamos was panicking. To lose a son . . . was there any way to capture that horror in mere words? One's lifesblood, the offspring of pleasure, a creature to mold and cherish, the hope of decades, of numberless fruitless attempts at conception! The filthiest peasant was still permitted to raise his own sons, or to seek such where they had been abandoned. The need to raise a child was as basic a human drive as ... as . . . well, as any other which the Braxana respected!
”Kaim'era Zatar . . . please tell me this is not true.” The disdain dropped from his voice and he found that he had adopted a formal mode. ”I cannot believe that the Kaim'erate would make such a decision.”
”What you choose to believe is of no consequence. The fact remains. You may submit to our order, or file formal opposition.”
”Surely there is something else I can do.”
The Kaim'era's expression was cold, as was his voice. ”I know of nothing.”
The absolute mode which Zatar employed frightened Lamas even more than his words. ”But surely something. . . .” He swallowed his pride. ”I could . . . reform my image?”
”It's too late for that.”
”Nonsense!” He exploded in anger-an acceptable display of emotion, he knew.
(Ar, he was starting to think like them!) ”That's the problem, isn't it? Well, it can be fixed.”
He waited breathlessly for the Kaim'era to answer; Zatar was painfully slow in doing so. ”They wouldn't believe you.”
”I could demonstrate-”
”You can't demonstrate that type of commitment, Lord Lamos. Now, I'm on a tight schedule; it isn't Peacetime, you know. I'm supposed to bring the child to Braxi before I go back to Tactical. Can we cease arguing the merits of this decision and get on with it?”
Who was it said that to kill an only son was to emasculate the father? Was this not much the same thing, at least as far as Lamos was concerned? ”Kaim'era. . . .”
The pleading tone of his voice horrified him, but he made no move to disguise it.
Better to humiliate himself in front of this man now than have all the Kaim'eri laughing at him for the rest of his life.
”The decision was made,” Zatar said sternly. ”To oppose it now, even to modify it, would require an advocated case. That would mean someone putting his reputation on the line for you. I'm not willing to do it.”
”But if I could prove my sincerity-”
”How? Be realistic, Lamos. How can you prove anything like that?”
”There must be some way. Lord-Kaim'era-I appeal to you as a Braxana! As a man.” As a father- he was about to say, but that was dangerous; he didn't know Zatar's reproductive status.
Zatar's expression changed slowly, from one of disinterest to a look of thoughtful consideration. ”I can think of one way,” he said finally, ”although I can't guarantee the Kaim'eri's response to it.”
”Of course not, of course not!”
”Much of the Braxana image, you know, is based on physical attributes. It strikes me that if you enrolled in one of the military training programs on Garran, this would certainly be a powerful statement regarding your intentions.”
Lamos' eyes widened in alarm. The Garranat House of War existed to turn men into soldiers, with little concern for their comfort. Located in one of the most desolate corners of the Holding, it was notorious for weeding out those who lacked the stamina for battle by breaking them in training. (Better a commoner's death on Garran, it was said, than a weak sword in war.) The fact that fully half of the system was devoted to military a.n.a.lysis and tactical command was of little comfort to Lamos, as was the fact that most of the Braxana who entered the House of War breezed through the initial training with ease and dignity. Those were men who thrived on discomfort, and who were-he admitted sulkily-in better shape than himself. It was reasonable to a.s.sume that they could complete the training in a few zhents, and be no worse for wear. With him it might take years-and unpleasant ones, at that.
But his son!