Chapter 3

The next morning, things were deceptively normal, other than a last-minute discussion of timing over breakfast. Priya, and most of the Craxill in Clan Phoenix would be in attendance at the ceremony; Jessica, Nadiya, and Nilwint would be riding herd on the children, assisted by those of Linda's friends whose school schedules permitted. Kirnwan would be present, but not part of the 'procession.' Instead, he would be part of the 'audience, ' which would give him the chance to sample the reactions of the 'public' to my performance.

I went into the office for the morning, carrying a garment bag with my Clan Lord robes. For once, there were no crises to interfere with my last-minute preparations; I didn't know if I should be happy, or insulted that Ritmurt didn't find it necessary to provoke some distractions to keep me off balance. I decided to be happy for small favors, and had a quick meal before 'suiting up' in my Craxill finest.

I got some startled looks as I left the office, but not one comment. My subordinates weren't exactly cowed (you can't get accurate information from someone who's afraid to give you bad news) but neither were they likely to risk my displeasure for an uncertain benefit. A quick transit ride brought me to the Embassy, where I met the rest of my Clan in a small suite near the Grand Chamber where the ceremony would be held.

In the manner of every wife since the concept was invented, Priya fussed over my appearance before reluctantly granting that there wasn't much left to do to correct it. Rillnam was equally fussy, over both John and myself, but a raised eyebrow was enough to back her off before she got too annoying.

In addition to John and Rillnam, Lantral and Roger were present, their toddler daughters at home with their 'big sister' Linda in charge. Lantral was much less fussy about Roger's appearance; he seemed to have her well under control. Unlike Rillnam, her 'rank' (in her own eyes at least) was no where near high enough for her to make any criticism of the appearance of any of the rest of us.

A few minutes before the appointed hour, a drone in Embassy colors, accompanied by another in Poxrill colors, came to the door of the suite and announced herself, making the ritual gestures of greeting, lowest to highest.

"Lord Tonrath, on behalf of the Embassy staff, I welcome you, and ask that you accompany me to the Grand Chamber, where the assembled clans await your arrival."

I acknowledged her, and her companion, and said, "Thank you for your gracious welcome. Lead on."

As we set out, we fell into a sort of formation. The Embassy drone led our party, with myself and Priya behind her. John and Rillnam were behind and to my right, while Roger and Lantral followed several steps back. The Poxrill drone brought up the rear.

I'd learned a great deal from my mother, some things that she deliberately taught me, others that I don't know that she realized I was aware of. The number one lesson from her explicit catechism was "Don't get cocky. Overconfidence leads to failure." I was all too aware how much my plans depended on the assumption that I knew what Ritmurt had in store for me.

The presence of a Poxrill drone eliminated a number of alternative explanations for my presence here. If Ritmurt had planned to challenge my legitimacy directly, the Embassy drone would have used different phrasing, summoning me instead of inviting me, and the Poxrill witness would not have allowed her to prevaricate, no matter what her orders.

We arrived at the door of the Grand Chamber, where the guards came to (their equivalent of) attention, showing the respect due a Clan Lord. Again, support for the theory I'd formed, or at least a neutral event.

"I am Tonrath, Lord Phoenix; I come at the invitation of Clan Ritmurt, and on my own authority," I said in formal High Craxill.

The oldest of the drones, and by the insignia on her chest the senior, "bowed" and said, "Enter, Lord, and be welcome among your fellow clans."

As she straighted up, the two guards nearest the doors opened them, and stepped back. With a gesture of thanks, I stepped into the room, and into battle. Craxill rituals are as formal and stylized as a Japanese Kabuki play, and the Ritual of Celebration and Presentation was no exception. The ritual began as the Craxill equivalent of a majordomo announced my arrival.

Despite the formality, it was clear the Ritmurt Local Eldest had it in for me. Ritual demanded that he downplay the value of his 'gift', and he did so in full measure, 'regretfully' mentioning that Larwint was a twin, and therefore less than worthy of my august statue. He also managed to mention that she was Nilwint's twin, spreading the 'smear' in hopes of highlighting my 'lack of judgment.'

I, on the other hand, was expected to compliment the gift, and the giver. I managed the first quite nicely and wasn't obnoxious about my lack of eagerness to do the latter.

"I find most of Craxill culture easy to understand, once I grasp the basics, but I admit to continuing puzzlement at this disapproval of a minor biological mis-function. Humans also normally release only one egg per cycle, and occasionally release more than one, but we never developed any adverse beliefs about such events. I accept that this is the common feeling, but I do not share it.

"My new clanswoman is welcome among us, and none of us will long remember the accident of her birth that you find it necessary to apologize for. As her sister has before her, I expect she will be a credit to her clan and her upbringing."

The Kabuki dance continued with the presentation of Larwint, and my 'inspection' of her. I took advantage of a subtlety of the ritual to step outside of it for a moment.

Addressing Larwint, I said, "I will not insult your devotion to clan and duty by asking you if you agree to this, but by human law and custom, and my personal beliefs, I must know if you accept it. If you do not, then you will not be required to submit to this."

It was hard to tell if Larwint was stunned at the 'violation' of protocol, or at the concept of being asked her opinion. In any event, she quickly and calmly replied, "I accept it, my lord. You and your clan are highly regarded among us, and I am grateful for the chance to live among you."

I tried my best to avoid visible reaction, but I was surprised by her response on several counts. First, there was a perceptible pause before the phrase, 'my lord, ' obvious enough that I noted surprise on several faces nearby. Secondly, her use of the phrase 'live among you' instead of the more common 'join your clan' drew a silent but significant response.

I addressed the pause directly, deliberately diverting attention from the latter statement.

"I understand how difficult it is to think of me as your Clan Lord," I said reassuringly, "But that will pass once you have completed the Ritual of Attachment. I hope that the long delay since your passage through puberty has not stressed you too badly; I have read of the need to belong that drones feel once they reach adulthood. I hope you have not suffered from having lived so long Unattached."

Again, Larwint seemed shocked, as if concern for a drone's feelings or discomfort was unheard of. I spared her further confusion (and the discomfort of the lie that she was still Unattached) by returning to the final stages of the ritual, the acceptance and praise of the 'wonderful gift' that she represented.

As she took her new place behind me, I told her, "I must spend a few minutes among the clans, accepting their congratulations and greeting friends. When I have finished, we will collect your identity papers, and return home, where I will complete the Ritual of Attachment with you."

I was being downright mean with that last, as I knew damned well that Larwint had no such papers. I hadn't tried to determine if she'd come in under a different name, or been smuggled in as furniture or some such, but I was stone cold certain that no such papers had issued. And since she was going to be immigrating, not just visiting as Embassy staff, the proper procedures had to be followed, or the bureaucrats would extract their revenge.

"Papers, my lord?" she half-stammered, "What papers?"

Several of the near-by high-level officials stiffened in shock, but I remained deliberately casual as I commented, "It seems that someone's desire to surprise me led their underlings to commit a mischief. When you came down from the starship to the spaceport, you should have been issued Earth Federation identity papers, affirming your identity as a diplomatic staff member, at least temporarily. Now I shall have to sooth some ruffled fur among the Federation and Greater Indian governments. A few days effort, but no huge trauma.

"Until your paperwork is straightened out, you will need to remain on the Embassy grounds. I will need to perform your Attachment ritual here, and arrange to visit you frequently while your Attachment solidifies. Again, an inconvenience, but well worth it to prevent you from suffering several more days of discomfort."

As I'd intended, my comments drew either surprised approval, or complete puzzlement, depending on the individual listener's clan's philosophy on drones. Many considered them somewhat less than fully Craxill, like overgrown children not quite capable of caring for themselves. The more enlightened clans, like 'my' Poxrill, or Rillnam's birth clan of Maltorl, considered them capable of self-determination, but recognized their need for guidance and structure in their lives.

As my 'father', the Ambassador approached, I turned to him and said, "Father, I find that I need a place for my new clanswoman to dwell while I prepare her way to join me and mine, and to perform her Ritual of Attachment. May I have the favor of the loan of suitable quarters for her for a few days?"

"I have just the place for you, my son," he replied, "Even now it is being prepared for your use and the comfort of your clanswoman."

Again, a silent wave of surprise spread at our use of the word 'clanswoman' to refer to a 'mere' drone. I had exchanged a few clandestine messages with the Ambassador this morning, finalizing the preparations we'd begun the day before, and he had been eager to reinforce the Poxrill/Maltorl viewpoint that 'drones are people too.' The fact that Ritmurt thought of them as mere property just added spice to the game.

I 'made the rounds' of the assembled clans, Priya and the rest accompanying my new acquisition and I. Most of the greetings were sincerely friendly, and almost all of the rest were at least polite, but there were a few that were less so, all of them from minor clans that were allied with Ritmurt, or with Sminran, the other clan that I had 'offended' last year.

Sminran's Local Eldest was annoyed with me because I'd allowed one of their females (Lantral) to disobey their instructions and bond with a human male (Roger) she had fallen in love with. The medical condition that led to Lantral's sterility made an intra-species bond impossible, but a little surgical intervention had made it possible for her to have intercourse with a human male without being torn apart, and as a result, she'd been able to bond with Roger. Her bond to him was instinctive and permanent; his to her was 'merely' emotional, but from what I'd seen it was no less complete.

The formalities completed, I left Priya and the rest to mingle further, while I took Larwint with me to the quarters provided by the Ambassador. Now we'd find out if I was as smart as I thought I was, or at least still lucky enough to get away with pretending to be.

The room Larwint followed me into was sparsely furnished, but what furniture there was was of high quality. A small food preparation area occupied one corner, while an entertainment screen and sound system filled another, faced by the Craxill version of couches and chairs and a low table.

Another doorway led to the sleeping area, and that's where I led my newest acquisition. As I entered the bedroom, I stepped to one side and let Larwint enter as well. She came to an abrupt stop beside me as she saw the thing beside the large bed.

At first glance, it looked like an abstract sculpture of some kind, made of that odd wood-like substance that so much Craxill furniture was formed out of. A sudden shift of perspective revealed it to be in the form of a crouching Craxill, two of the three supporting legs corresponding to the Z-shape formed by the thighs, midlegs, and calves of his or her legs with both pairs of knees half-bent, with all three legs supporting the broad flat board of a 'body' with smaller extensions representing grasping arms.

Larwint was staring at the instrument of her conversion in an odd combination of fear, lust, and puzzlement. She started when I spoke her name, and I could see she was on the edge of panic.

"Do not be afraid, Larwint," I said as reassuringly as I could. "The time for fear is over. I know all of the lies you were told to tell, and the truth of them, and in the words of our Ancient Ones, the truth will set you free."