Interlude - Curator Enclave, the Bjuh system, 2329
Crown Prince Reetril had slept for hours, the faint hum of the nearby hyerdrive caressing his ears like the lullabies he'd last heard as a nestling on Skanaa. He did not dream which was most unlike him; he was simply to exhausted to do so, frazzled brain seeking out blessed oblivion.
It had been an awful few weeks. The threat of civil war. The assassination of his mother. The confused, terrified flight from Baviir space in disguise. Hythea... He had to be so cautious awake that the few moments he felt safe to sleep Reetril truly slept. Now it was only the repeated tapping on the door that eventually, reluctantly aroused him. Groggily the heir to the Baviir throne opened one amber eye, then the other and clambered into wakefullness. He got to his feet and instinctively reached for his diaphanous robes. They weren't there of course. Like so much else they had been abandoned in that long retreat. The small sleeping cubicle he was in was a small and plain as the ship that surrounded it, fit simply for a freetrader - and not a good one. So it was clad only with still unfamiliar tawny feathers that he answered the door.
'Radiant Highness we have arrived,' One-Eye said. The grey feathered female stood there in the doorway, almost as plain as a Till'Lynesi concubine and at least as tough. She had a scar running from her ruined left eye across her beak that Reetril knew to be a legacy of an hand to hand fight with an Ekwynian. The exact details of what had happened had been shared over a bottle of red spiced wine in celebration of leaving Hythea unobserved and had left the Crown Prince with a murderous hangover, a queasy stomach and a healthy respect for his bodyguard. He'd miss her.
Well if things went right he wouldn't, but that didn't make this parting any sweeter.
'Thank you for everything,' Reetril said. He took the bodyguard's hands in his own and looked her in the eye. 'Without you I'm sure I'd be radioactive vapour floating in the cosmos.'
'Don't say that Sir,' One-Eye replied. She clacked her beak in amusement. That had probably been the last sight that poor Ekwynian had ever seen.
'No, it's true.'
'No, I just meant they'd want to take you alive and kill you carefully,' One-Eye explained, voice jovial. 'Just to make sure. Explosions can be so sloppy.'
Despite his exhaustion Reetril whistled a laugh. It was good to know he could still manage it.
There was a only a few more moments before Reetril send his last farewells and stepped through the airlock out of the small merchant freetrader. As he felt himself surround by the cool if clean air of the Curator station Reetril turned and saluted the older Baviir. Strange, he never had discovered the old soldier's real name. Probably he never would. One-Eye was how she'd introduced herself so One-Eye it was.
***
'... so you understand?' the Mishar woman said. She leaned forward in her chair and looked across the oval metallic bronze table, the slightly off lighting in the room making her cranial ridge starker, the ocean green eyes more imposing. Besides being colder than Skanaa the long lost Mishar homeworld had been dimmer too.
'I'll still be me, even with these surface memories and persona?' Reetril did not consider himself a fool but the medical, psychological and philosophical issues had been hard to comprehend - and easy to worry over.
The Mishar nodded. 'Yes. Your new surface persona will have different memories but her inner emotions, her intellect, instincts and behaviours will all spring from you. When you become T'Chel she won't conciously remember being you, but she still will be you. When needed that inner core can be retrieved and your full memory will be restored.'
'Ah... a little like a dream where you are someone else?'
It was always hard to read mammalian facial expressions but the Mishar looked surprised and perhaps a shade disdainful. 'That seems an unnecessary frivolous way of putting it but I suppose there is a certain aptness.'
Reetril bit back a sardonic comment on frivolity given the Curators had insisted on fifty-one separate perfectly inscribed miniature jewel-sculptures from Skanaa as payment for their services. Getting them in the first place had been difficult, even with the aid of loyalist sympathizers. Transporting them here had been both difficult and distressing as Reetril had been forced to smuggle them in his gizzard past Ekwynian customs vessels. Producing them from said gizzard had been... well, best not to dwell on that now.
'I'll still be me.' Reetril repeated softly. He tried to feel reassured. He looked down at the soft tawny feathers running down his arms (by the Divine Three did he hate being blonde.) He flexed his fingers. How much was he identical with his body? How much would remain without it?
He leaned back against the wall took a breath of the frigid air and thought about the real T'Chel. He'd met her once or twice and though they'd never been close exactly she'd seemed a reasonable sort. He'd been sad to hear of her presumed death but understandably had bigger problems on his mind. Then the Mishar had made their proposal. T'Chel might be presumed dead but with her body vapourised in a shuttle accident during the chaotic evacuation of Bjuh there was no proof. And by good fortune she was of very similar biological type to Reetril...
'It is time Crown Prince Reetril,' the Mishar said.
He took a long breath and followed the woman to the room where T'Chel's cloned body floated in a lurid neon nutrient liquid. Alive, yet completely mindless. Empty.
Waiting.
***
Skanaa, the Skeru system, 2345
Princess Regent T'Chel had had not been able to sleep for hours. She probably wouldn't for days. The Ekwynian surrender on Vrinn, the Archon acceptance of terms... the war was over and the sharp rush of emotion wouldn't end soon. The celebratory grand masque thrown at the palace had not helped matters and T'Chel knew the hangover in the morning would be momentous. Which added to the reluctance to sleep.
After kicking a delightful but exhausting guest out of personal bedchambers T'Chel found herself in a resting pose looking at the grand mirror in front of her. Sleek golden feathers covered her body, as perfect as ever but sometimes, especially after a lot of spiced wine, she found herself wondering what she'd look like if she had hatched as a blue. An odd thought. Plenty of Meta-Baviiri coloured their feathers but T'Chel never seemed to find herself thinking 'what would I look like if I changed my feathers' only 'what would I look like if I always wore different feathers.'
She couldn't remember ever being blue and yet, there it was.
The Princess Regent blinked tiredly. She had a lot of engagements to get to in the near future, including personal talks with the Head Curator. Her aides were puzzled by that and wondered why she had picked that meeting first. The Mishar and the reintegration of the enclave in the Bjuh system were important but surely the Vrinn and Ekwynians were more so? Even T'Chel couldn't quite explain it. Something deep in the back of her mind seemed to be directing her to those talks.
She didn't know why but it felt personally important.