The Morcai Battalion: The Pursuit. Diana Palmer

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       CHAPTER TWO

      MEKASHE HAD TO go through channels to get to Dr. Strick Hahnson aboard the Holconcom flagship, Morcai. That meant he had first to speak to its commander, his best friend, Rhemun.

      “What are you doing aboard a commercial vessel?” Rhemun asked as the holon was initiated and his friend was standing in the room with him in a three-dimensional figure that could be interacted with. The avatar had the same flesh-and-blood reality as its original. They locked forearms in a show of affection.

      “I have a problem,” Mekashe confessed, laughing. He reverted to his true form in the communication, not the almost-human-looking one he shared with outworlders. His true form was larger, taller, more massive than the camouflaged one. He had a face just a little more catlike than the familiar humanoid one that he showed to strangers, with a broad nose and a thick mane, and ears that were placed slightly differently than a human’s. There was no visible fur and he had no tail, as cats did. But the resemblance to a galot—the sentient cats of Eridanus Three—was notable, even if Cehn-Tahr were humanoid enough not to raise eyebrows in a crowd.

      “What sort of problem?” Rhemun asked.

      “One of the heart,” came the amused reply. “I told you when we were boys, about the visions I had...”

      “...of a tall, willowy blonde human female, yes, I recall.” Rhemun gave a mock glare. “You thought it might be Edris, despite her lack of height.”

      Mekashe laughed. “I must confess that I did. But I have now encountered the living vision.” He drew in a breath. “She is magnificent,” he added. “Beyond my dreams.”

      Rhemun cocked his head. “And this is a problem?”

      “We have only just met,” his friend replied, dropping into a chair beside Rhemun’s desk. “I do not wish to rush things. The emperor forced me to take a civilian mode of transport,” he began.

      “Yes, because you refuse R & R and he thinks you push yourself too hard. Your lieutenant is performing admirably in your absence.”

      “Just as well, because I now have no desire to rush home. However, she will be coming with me when I arrive.” He grinned at his friend’s surprise. “Her father is our new Terravegan ambassador.”

      Rhemun burst out laughing. “Now, that is a true coincidence,” he remarked.

      “As I thought, also.” He drew in a long breath. “So, as you see, I must go carefully forward. I feel an attraction that I do not wish to get out of hand. I want to approach Hahnson for advice,” he added. “But for that, I must have your permission. And your promise of silence.”

      “The emperor will know,” Rhemun began.

      Mekashe pulled out a small, glowing white ball. It would conceal thoughts from a telepath, even one as formidable as old Tnurat. “This is an innovation on the original design,” he confessed. “I must not announce my feelings to the emperor just yet.”

      Rhemun understood. “There will be no issue,” he said. “The emperor reveres humans since Madeline Ruszel has given him two beautiful grandchildren.”

      “Still, I must not rush things. I belong, as you do, to the Royal Clan. There are rumors, and only rumors, that too much mixing with the humans might provoke difficulties in the Dectat.”

      Rhemun smiled. “Not as long as Tnurat rules. Did you not hear that he punched the president of the Dectat for an altercation with Dtimun over Ruszel’s rescue when her ship crashed on Akaashe?”

      Mekashe chuckled. “I did, indeed. That is a long-standing feud.”

      “Both are stubborn.”

      “Good leaders.”

      “Agreed.” Rhemun got up. “You have my permission to speak to Hahnson, and I promise not to mention it until you give me equal permission.” He chuckled. “Will that do?”

      “Indeed it will.”

      “I wish you great good fortune with the ambassador’s daughter. And I look forward to meeting her, as well.”

      “How is Edris?” Mekashe asked.

      “Recovering very well. Would you like to see our daughter?” he added.

      “Yes!”

      Rhemun pulled out a miniature holo and held it up. There was a tiny, black-headed baby in the cradle of her beaming mother’s arms. Edris, looking as lovely as ever before, and Kipling, their son, standing beside his mother, grinning.

      “This is Larisse,” he said with pride.

      “A delightful child! She will look more like you than Kipling does, I think,” Mekashe commented.

      “I think so, as well. She is the light of my life already, as my son and my mate already were.” The little girl was only the second female born into Clan Alamantimichar in thousands of years. Princess Lyceria was the first.

      “I rejoice in your good fortune,” Mekashe said. “And I look forward to rejoicing in my own!”

      “Speak to Hahnson. I’ll see you before you leave, yes?”

      “Of course!”

      * * *

      STRICK HAHNSON LOOKED more like a wrestler than a physician. He had been with the Morcai Battalion since its creation, in the horror of the Rojok death camp, Ahkmau. At least, his original had been. The true Hahnson was tortured and killed by the Rojoks, who were trying to find an almost fatally ill Dtimun hidden in the camp by his cellmates. Dtimun had cloned the physician for Captain Holt Stern and Dr. Madeline Ruszel as recompense for snatching them out of the Terravegan Strategic Space Command and into the ranks of his newly formed Morcai Battalion. It had been a bittersweet reunion. Stern, too, was a clone. In the old days, the two of them would never have been able to return to Terravegan society because they were clones. There was a terrible prejudice there. But the emperor, out of gratitude for their help in saving his son, had given all the humans of the Morcai Battalion Cehn-Tahr citizenship. The clones of the Holconcom, and the human ones, had meshed quite well together.

      Hahnson looked up, surprised to see Mekashe walking into his lab. He grinned and locked forearms. “What a nice surprise,” he enthused. “How in the world did you get here without the ship alerting everybody?”

      “The holon,” Mekashe said easily, and with a smile. Hahnson was one of only a handful of humans who knew about the holon tech. “I have a very personal matter to discuss.”

      “Still amazes me,” Strick said, walking around the Tri-D3-d image to study Mekashe. “I can even touch you,” he added, doing it, “and you feel real.”