Clan and Conviction (Clan Beginnings) (25 page)

Gelan stepped out onto the balcony that connected to the sleeping room, his hands full of a bottle of kloq and a cup to drink it from.  He’d not have bothered with the cup, except he knew he’d be sharing the bottle with Wynhod.  Then again, maybe his Nobek would have liked a bottle of his own.  They could sit outside and swig like a couple of alcoholics.  It sounded like a good plan, but now that Gelan was already there on the balcony, he couldn’t be bothered with going back inside for more booze.

Wynhod had come out and sat with his own cup, looking at the sun setting over the next mountain.  It painted the sky in red and gold streaks that would have been beautiful had Gelan’s mood been better.  The view of the jutting peaks all around never got old for him.  The air was crisp and invigorating.  Autumn was his favorite time of year, when the hectic heat of summer finally released its grasp on the Southwest Mountain Territory.  Now was the best time for hunting or to indulge Wynhod in his favorite sport of mountain climbing.  The season beckoned with all its enjoyments and distractions.  That the Dramok had someone to share it with made it even better.  Too bad they still hadn’t found their third.

Gelan sank in the chair next to Wynhod’s.  The durable outdoor fabric, the same color as the most crimson shade in the evening’s sky, molded comfortably around his muscular bulk.

His Nobek finished sucking down his drink and wordlessly held his cup out to Gelan without taking his eyes off the sunset.  The Dramok obliged by filling it up as well as his own.  He set the bottle down and sighed.

Somehow Wynhod managed to keep his tone even, not allowing even the slightest note of disappointment to creep in.  “Did you already pack up the stuff he had over here?”

Gelan downed half his glass before answering.  “Done and sent to his home.  I’m getting a little too good at this.”

This time his clanmate did let a little frustration sneak in.  “That’s the eighth potential Imdiko in ten years.  It always starts off good and then they leave.  What are we doing wrong?”

“According to them, we’re too much alike.”

Wynhod snorted.  “That’s the stupidest reason I’ve ever heard.  If we’re so much alike, then it stands to reason that if you like one of us, you should like the other.”

Gelan managed a rueful grin.  “Hell, we even—”  

“—finish each other’s sentences.”

The two men looked at one another and grimaced.  In perfect sync as always, Gelan noted.  He sighed.

Wynhod laughed at their predicament.  “Well, fuck.  Maybe we should just give up.  They’re all getting younger and younger anyway.”

Gelan swallowed the rest of his kloq and reached for the bottle.  “Wrong.  We’re getting older.”

“You don’t find many unclanned Imdikos our age.  They’re almost as scarce as Mataras.  Half as many of them as my breed, and few available at this stage of life.”

Gelan shrugged.  “It’s not like we’re going to find a Matara anyway, which is the main reason for creating a clan of three men.  What was that I heard, that there might be less than two hundred fertile women available for clanning in all the Empire?”

Wynhod stretched his long legs and relaxed a little.  “I guess if we want some guy who will submit to being our bottom without a fight, we can always hit the pleasure club and play with a service Imdiko.”

“Or you could be nice for a change and surrender—” 

“Shit on that.”  The Nobek held out his cup.  “More.  Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll be too drunk to kick and then fuck your ass tonight.”

Gelan laughed and poured his drink.  “In that case, take the whole damned bottle.”

He grinned at Wynhod, and his clanmate grinned back.  The hurt of yet another rejection faded in the glow of companionship and alcohol.  Maybe Wynhod was right.  Maybe it was time to give up on clanning an Imdiko, as nice as it would be to have one compatible to their needs.  After all, Gelan was perfectly happy with Wynhod, the man who felt like half his soul. 

It could be that they were so well matched that there wasn’t room for a third.  Ten years of clanship and eight ill-fitting Imdikos had certainly borne that theory out.

* * * *

Krijero walked into the investigation department, feeling extremely antsy about doing so.  His nervousness had nothing to do with the fact that the room crowded with teams of Dramoks and Nobeks.  Only three fellow Imdikos worked as investigators for this precinct, men who were natural caregivers but had strong Dramok tendencies as well.  Fascinating people.  Unfortunately, he was not here to talk to any of them.

No, Krijero had to spend a little face time with a couple of particularly powerful men who were as far from the nurturing Imdiko breed as one could imagine.  What he had to tell them had Krijero’s hands sweating.

“Looks like a little lost psych to me,” a rough voice said as he hesitated just inside the door.

Krijero jerked his head up and peered through the strands of hair falling over his face.  Sitting at two desks across from each other were a Dramok and Nobek, grinning up at him from their chairs.  They were vaguely familiar to the Imdiko; no doubt he’d seen them in passing before.  It was the Nobek who had spoken.

The Dramok, a wide-featured man with massive shoulders, looked him over with an expression of amusement.  Krijero was as rumpled and messy as ever.  His clothes were clean but he could never seem to summon the motivation to fold them neatly before putting them in their drawers.

“You’re the one who works with Gelan most of the time, aren’t you?” the Dramok asked.  His slanted eyes narrowed further.  “It’s Dr. Krijero, right?  You were in on that Delir case several years ago.  You got a commendation and all that.”

“Yeah.”  Krijero thought it interesting that Delir had come up, considering what he was about to do. 

“Got a hot lead, psych?” the Nobek asked.  He was better looking than his partner, but not by much.  His nose was a beak of a thing and slightly hooked at the end.  The way his hair had been pulled back tight in a braid only accentuated that unfortunate feature. 

The enforcer’s tone approached the edge of taunting as he kept talking.  “Going to save Kalquor once more from behind your desk?”

The Dramok tossed an empty food container he had lying on his desk at the other man.  “Don’t mind Nobek Panow, Krijero.  He’s long on stupid and short on manners.”

“Fuck you, Dexel,” Panow said.  “I didn’t mean anything by it.  The psych knows we like to tease his department.”

“Yeah, a million laughs every day,” Krijero said, moving away from the pair.  “Excuse me.”

He navigated his way carefully through the maze of closely arranged desks that begged for him to bump into them.  In the far corner of the room, he saw that the two men he’d come to talk to were sitting at their desks.  It suddenly occurred to Krijero that he hadn’t seen Gelan and Wynhod face to face in quite a while.  Gelan still requested the Imdiko’s help when he hit a snag on whatever case he worked on, but they communicated mostly via message, com, or vid.  Krijero couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to Wynhod.

Ten years had passed since the Delir case when Krijero had first met the pair.  The time had leant extra maturity to the two men’s faces, honing the stern lines of Wynhod’s features and granting even more imperious elegance to Gelan’s.  They looked stunning, and Krijero was once more too aware of his own rumpled appearance.

He steered his thoughts to concentrating on not walking into anything until he found himself standing next to the two men’s desks.  He looked into a pair of surprised and curious faces.

Gelan’s tone was warm as he greeted him.  “Dr. Krijero.  Good to see you.”

Wynhod added, “So you do exist outside the brain trust.”

The psych shrugged.  “Yeah, I stick my head out once in awhile to see the real world.”

He thought his pretended nonchalance sounded pretty convincing.  He was actually nervous as hell, and Nobek Panow’s rudeness had only increased that feeling.  What he would say in the next few moments would not be welcome, based on past experience.  Yet the situation had reached the point that Krijero couldn’t put off this conversation any longer and remain friends with his conscience.

Gelan and Wynhod’s eyes narrowed at him simultaneously.  They’d picked up on his anxiety after all.  However, Gelan matched his casual manner, nodding at the empty desk behind Krijero. 

“Pull up a seat.  Tell me what has you braving our little corner of paradise,” the Dramok invited. 

Krijero laughed at that.  Paradise indeed.  Before he could claim the indicated chair, Wynhod got up and pulled it over for him.  Well, that was nice.  Much nicer than that hooked-nose Panow with his veiled insults.

“Thanks,” he said as he settled into the seat.  He waited until Wynhod had also sat down, though the Nobek chose to perch on the edge of his desk rather than his chair. 

The Imdiko took a deep breath.  “Do you remember your case from ten years ago?  Delir?”

Gelan gave him a half-grin.  “Like I’m going to forget that.”

“There was a gang member you caught by the name of Latwik.  He had a sister with a child.”

Wynhod nodded.  “I remember he was extremely rude to you when you questioned him for us.  We made a deal with him so the Matara and boy were given new identities.”

“Yeah.”  Krijero plunged right in.  “Did you know the Matara is dead?  Murdered, in fact.  Latwik too.  They died within a week of each other.”

Neither man reacted strongly, but the fact they both went stock still let Krijero know they were shocked.  Gelan recovered first.  “What?  How?”

“A guard disemboweled Latwik after he supposedly attacked him.”

Wynhod’s gaze narrowed.  “Supposedly?”

“No witnesses.  It’s still under investigation.  The more shocking thing is that two days before Latwik killed, someone flayed his sister Matara Eki alive in her home.”

This time Krijero scored two mouths dropping wide open.  Gelan sputtered, “What the fuck?”

Wynhod added, “Wait, are we talking about the woman murdered in the Surv Coast Territory?  The one all over the news vids a little over a year ago?”

Krijero nodded.  “That was her.”  Everyone knew about that unsolved case, though not the real identity of the victim.  The murder of a fertile Matara was serious stuff.

Wynhod’s face turned a deep shade of red.  What came out of his mouth was more a growl than a voice.  “The kid … Latwik’s nephew.  He was not mentally competent.”

Krijero was glad he had one piece of good news, since the Nobek looked ready to throttle someone.  The psych worried he sat a little too close at hand to make Wynhod any angrier.  “Eki placed Byd in a secure care facility after a few violent outbursts five years ago.  He got beyond what his mother and her clan could do for him, so he’s now under constant supervision.  Whoever was behind the killings of his mother and uncle hasn’t found a way to get to him yet.”

Gelan’s eyes narrowed.  “Behind the killings?  But you said the guard allegedly acted in self defense.”

Krijero blew out a breath.  “I suspect there is a lot more to it than that.”

Wynhod shook his head.  “First of all, how did you find out all this?  Eki and Byd’s identities should have remained secret, even from us.”

“They were until after the Matara died.  I still wouldn’t have known anything about it if not for keeping an eye on things.”

Gelan’s voice was ominously low.  “On what things?  You need to start explaining yourself, Krijero.”

Krijero bit his lip.  He hoped Gelan liked him enough to not beat the shit out of him when he heard the answer.  It took effort for him to say, “It’s the Delir case again.”  Before the Dramok could react, he continued as fast as he could speak.  “Did you know that all those gang members you managed to catch and keep alive are now dead?  Every last one.  Most of them died within the first five years of their prison sentences.”

Gelan and Wynhod stared at him.  Now not only were their mouths wide open, but their eyes as well.  Well, he had their complete and undivided attention.  Now it was time to lower the boom.

Making his voice as firm as he could, Krijero announced, “Gelan, Delir is still around, and the situation is worse than what we saw ten years ago.”

The feral look that came over Gelan’s face made the Imdiko want to jump up and run out of the room.  The trouble with that was he’d no doubt crash into a desk or trip over his own feet.  Gelan would catch him and pound him until he was a broken mess on the floor.

With no choice but to see this through, Krijero shrank under that burning gaze.  He waited for Gelan to either calm down or start swinging.

With what looked like monumental effort, the Dramok said, “Explain, Psych.”

Krijero let his shoulders sag a little in relief.  The beat down was averted for a few seconds at least.  “Back when I first came on to your case, I told you how I thought the whole thing was bigger than just a gang running drugs.”

“I remember that.  You said it was run like a business, and by someone much smarter than anyone likely to be in the gang’s roster.”

“I’m positive more than ever that I was right.  I’m now sure this territory was a kind of testing grounds for the manufacture and distribution of Delir.”