The Lion and the Lizard

by Brindle, Nathan C.

  Wolff spread his hands. "Ari – don't get me wrong. If I had a daughter in her teens, I'd probably have told her the same thing by now, but only by way of trying to warn her about the two-legged predators she'd no doubt be likely to attract, simply by virtue of being female."

  "Oh. Yeah. Real Dad had that talk with me when I was thirteen," Ariela admitted. "If I hadn't developed lupus the next year, he probably would have had me in self-defense classes, too."

  "Good, and I know you took them later, so even better. Look, Ari, to clear the air: I don't chase or lust after women other than my wife. I just admire the work of the Creator's Hand. Kat is the same way with well-built men. We point them out to each other, in fact. But we're monogamous as hell, just the same as your mother and father are."

  "I guess that's a relief, not that I had ever thought of you or them any other way, or had any reason to, for that matter."

  Wolff shrugged. "At any rate, I meant only to let you know that I know and, moreover, my only objection to you and Mei at this point would be the difference in rank. But you say the thing with Mei was sort of a 'one and done,' and I believe you. So there is clearly someone else, and I need to know who it is . . . not that I don't think I already know."

  "How would you know?"

  "I dip my hand into Corps Intelligence from time to time when they need extra help. It's interesting work. But anyway, someone contacted me about some odd signals they'd picked up. Highly-encrypted, and only single-ended, which was quite puzzling until we found out where they were coming from."

  Ariela felt a chill. "I see."

  "So do you want to tell me what you've been talking about with Sergeant Fred Fox for the past . . . hmm . . . thirty years your time, three years his?" Wolff didn't smile with his face, but she could see the humor in his eyes.

  "You caught me," sighed Ariela.

  "Wasn't all that hard, once we traced the single end back to Fox's comm. I just want to know how the hell it worked. It's pretty clear the Simulation is involved."

  "You don't know? What about how it let you send a message to General Buford from my timeline when you couldn't go back to talk to him in person?"

  Wolff shook his head. "As far as we know, that was a one-shot deal. It didn't involve an actual change to my comm, it was handled by the Simulation operating as intermediary. Since the encryption in this case is incredibly deep, we figure the Simulation added some code to your comms to encrypt and decrypt the messages, and then handled the routing itself. Certainly it proved it is capable of that."

  "Why are you assuming it was me he was talking to?"

  Wolff grinned. "Because since you switched timelines, we can see both ends of the communication. We still can't break the encryption, though. On the other hand, the other reason we assumed it was you was because it started up almost immediately after we came back from your timeline three years ago, and you were the only person downtime we knew of who had a comm."

  "I – " Ariela was at a loss for words. She looked at Wolff. "All I know is I got a text from him on the comm you gave me, a few days after I went home. I answered, he wrote me back, and I sort of got caught up in how smart and sensitive he was. I got so comfortable with him, I even told him about Mei. But we talked about books and literature and even a little about the mission to recon the uptime ship. How funny it was when I opened the AV wall and turned around to see all three of their guns pointed at me. Well. I guess it wasn't funny then, but it was funny later."

  "I see. Did he ask you about the later mission?"

  "Not as such. I told him about it, well, the parts I could tell him about, that were open source. I never said anything about the abyss. Or how you 'fixed' me so I could pull myself out of it." She thought for a moment. "He knew about the timeline being fixed so it worked properly. But I think that may have also been open source, at least among the people on the two missions."

  "We didn't really clamp down too much on it," shrugged Wolff. "We figured they'd keep their mouths shut, and they did. That he talked about it with you isn't really a breach."

  "Dad," said Ariela, then paused and took a deep breath. "Dad – I'm in love with him and I think he's in love with me."

  "Ah," replied Wolff. "That explains the business about waiting until whoever this beau of your is, is 'old enough' for you."

  Ariela sighed. "I could smack Mom for that."

  "So. So desu ne. But now we have a problem."

  "I guess so." Ariela hung her head.

  "However, it may not be as big a problem as one might think," continued Wolff. "He's a sergeant now, not a lance corporal, so he's closer in enlisted NCO rank to your officer rank than you are to Mei. The way things are going, he could end up a mustang – especially since he's a college graduate, that makes things a lot easier with regard to OCS entry and so forth. And you having been made a reserve butterbar by direct commission makes you a little bit of an odd duck yourself, since the Space Force Marines don't normally do DCO – as it is, to satisfy the paper-pushers, you were actually direct-commissioned into Space Force as an ensign, then laterally transferred to SFM as a 2nd lieutenant, but that's beside the point. Finally, you're not in each other's chain of command. The point I'm trying to make is it would be a fuckload easier for Buford to justify giving dispensation to the two of you to marry than doing the same for you and Mei – which is why we are having this talk, because I was afraid I might have to ask for the latter." He relaxed into his chair, finally satisfied that things would be all right.

  Ariela perked up. "You mean – Fred and I could get married?"

  "Yep. Get married, have kids, become grandparents eventually . . . I don't see a problem, personally."

  "Thank you, Daddy!" she cried, jumping out of her seat and falling on him where he sat to give him a hug. He let her, then gently pushed her off after a moment.

  Both of them were grinning like fools.

  "You're as bad as your mother," he accused her.

  She shrugged, with a giggle. "Like mother, like daughter, I guess."

  "You do still have one problem, though."

  "Oh? What's that?"

  "Sergeant Fox hasn't met your parents."

  "Oh! Umm . . . "

  Wolff smiled, gently. "I can arrange that, you know."

  "Fred," said Staff Sergeant Adkins, "turn on your comm. I just got a note from higher saying you've got an incoming call."

  Fox looked at Adkins, quizzically. "A voice call? In the middle of range time?"

  Adkins shrugged. "Higher indicated it was priority."

  "Well, okay, I guess. You want to finish this mag?" Fox set his M11 down on the range booth's pad, and backed out of the booth. Adkins nodded, and took his place; Fox turned and exited the range into the adjoining corridor.

  Pulling out his comm, he turned it on, and it immediately started chiming. He peered at the screen, and felt his heart jump. "A call from Ariela?" he whispered. "Not a text? An actual call?"

  He answered it, ignoring the other SF Marines bustling past him, up and down the corridor. "Hi, Ari! What's new? Why the call?"

  And his life was never the same again.

  A couple of weeks later, Ariela entered a local, upscale Chinese tearoom. She'd made reservations for Mei, and Fred, and herself, since Mei was leaving for her new job on Mars that very day, and Fred was finally back from all the crapola, sorry, training, he'd been in the middle of when she called him and told him everything was going to be okay. And she wanted Fred to meet Mei, and vice versa. All three of them liked Chinese tea and tea snacks, so it seemed like the perfect send-off for Mei.

  She walked up to the front desk where a very proper, well-dressed Chinese maître d' was frowning in her direction. "Good afternoon, sir," she said, "I'm—"

  "Young lady," said the maître d' with a scowl. "We do not permit shabbily-dressed persons into this establishment. Please leave immediately. Good day."

  Ariela reared back in astonishment. "What? No, sir, I'm—"

  "Did you not hear me?
Those clothes are a disgrace. Begone, young woman, before I call the constabulary."

  He came out from behind the desk to shoo her out the door, but she knew when her presence needed to make itself scarce, so she walked out the door under her own power, head held high, wondering:

  "What the fuck?"

  She stood outside, on the sidewalk in front of the BATFE convenience store in the next suite over, fuming, and wondering what the hell she ought to do. This was clearly a major breach. She looked at her clothes – she'd chosen to wear her older shipsuit, grey, with the kicky red boots and red gloves, though she wasn't wearing the beret today – and okay, sure, maybe it was a little scuffed here and there from the mission she and Fox and the others had been on together, but really, it didn't look that bad . . .

  "What seems to be the problem?" came a musical Chinese voice. "Why didn't you go on in?"

  Ariela looked up; of course, it was Mei. "They wouldn't let me in. Said my clothes were shabby. They'll probably say the same about you," she added, looking Mei up and down, "but damn, Mei-Lin, there's not a damn thing shabby about that shipsuit."

  Mei was wearing her copy of the same shipsuit Ariela had worn on the first mission to visit the Xzl5!vt. If Ariela had been a man, she would have given Mei a major wolf whistle. As it was, she almost wanted to drag Mei into an alley and have at her.

  Almost. She grinned.

  "Did you tell them you had a reservation?" queried Mei. "Or that you are who you are?"

  Ariela shook her head. "The maître d' never let me get that far."

  Mei cocked her head. "Really. Well. Let's just go see about that."

  "Mei, I don't want to cause a fuss on your last day with us. We can go somewhere else."

  "Fuck that for a game of soldiers," replied Mei, evenly. "I want Chinese tea, you said this is the best anywhere around, and I want to find out. Let's go."

  So the two women walked, arm in arm, into the tearoom.

  Where they were, of course, immediately stopped by the maître d'.

  "Ladies," he sniffed, imperiously, "this establishment has certain standards. We cannot allow you to simply march in here in . . . " he looked them up and down, with disdain, " . . . scruffy leather suits, as if you were just getting in from a night on the grunge metal scene."

  "Oh," deadpanned Mei, "it's okay, dude, like, Ari and me here are just meeting our husband for tea." She pulled Ari closer and smiled. Ariela rolled her eyes a bit but grinned and went along with it. What the hell.

  The man sputtered a bit. "Your husbands?"

  "No," said Mei, "our husband. Singular. As in, we share him. Apparently you have a hearing problem."

  "Or a bigot problem," piped up Ariela. "Marriage laws went out the window years ago, man." She looked at him like she was sizing him up. "He probably couldn't handle both of us," she remarked, aside, to Mei.

  Mei laughed, that tinkling little Chinese laugh she did so well. "Yeah. Look, buster, we're just trying to find a place to sit and wait and have some tea. We're not going to cause any trouble. We didn't even bring our weapons. And believe me, you wouldn't like it if you made me have to pull out my big guns."

  Having regained his composure, the maître d' shook his head. "Regardless, madam, I cannot allow the two of you into the establishment. If I did, the next thing we knew, we'd have half the grunge crowd in here and our regulars would desert us."

  Fox picked that moment, finally, to arrive. Dressed in his Space Force MCCUUs, of course. Ariela thought he looked exceedingly fine in them, and she smiled, gently. The maître d' had other ideas.

  "I'm sorry, sir, but . . . "

  "But what?" asked Fox, guilelessly. He'd already figured out the score, he just needed to know the playbook.

  "Fox," said Mei, "this man has a problem with the way we're dressed."

  "Yeah," said Ariela, "and seems to have a problem with our three-way marriage."

  Fox, somehow, probably his Marine hostage training, manfully held back a horselaugh, and made it look as though he was just going "hmmph". "Well, darlings, why don't we just try another place?"

  "But I really wanted to come here before we leave," pouted Ariela.

  "It's not every day one leaves for Mars, you know," Mei pointed out.

  The maître d' looked at her. Then he looked at Fox. Finally he looked at Ariela.

  Then he looked back at Fox. "Space Force?" he managed to enunciate.

  "Sergeant Friedrich von Fox, United States Space Force Marines, at your service, sir," acknowledged Fox.

  Mei looked at Ariela. "Von?" she mouthed. Ariela shrugged.

  "Um . . . " said the maître d'.

  Mei lost her patience at that point. "Sir, my name is Brigadier General Mei-Lin Lai, United States Space Force Marines," she said. "You may have seen my name in the press over the last few days. I am the incoming Commandant of the Space Force establishment in Terra Meridiani, on Mars. I answer to General John Buford, the U.S. Space Force Commandant. He answers to the President of the United States. Now, I understand you serve the best, bar none, Chinese green tea that can be had in this state or any other in the Union. So I have come here with my very good friend and her fiancé to have a last glass of good, honest tea before I board a dropship and head up to the USSF Constellation for my ride to Mars. I do not have the time or the inclination to return home and put on a frilly dress for the purpose of drinking said tea; frilly dresses do not last in a spacecraft environment, so mine are all packed away in storage at my friend's house." She shoved Ariela, who was trying to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. "Tell the man who you are."

  "My name," said Ariela, finally, and a bit reluctantly, "is Ariela Rivers Wolff."

  The maître d' gasped in astonishment. "Shàngdì de shīzi!"

  Mei nodded, and said, "Yes. She is the Lion of God."

  Ariela rolled her eyes and sighed.

  "But why didn't you say so in the first place?" The poor man looked like he was about to sink through the floor.

  "I don't like to trade on my reputation. I'd still appreciate it if . . . aw, shit."

  The tearoom had gone completely silent. Everyone was looking at her.

  "I invoke privacy," she said. "But I will give the blessing for anyone who wishes it when I am finished with my business here."

  People nodded understanding, looked a little abashed, and went back to what they had been doing before the maître d's little outburst.

  "Please, your Holiness . . . my apologies, of course, and will you and your associates follow me? We have a booth over here that is a little more private than the others."

  They followed him over to the booth, which was a round table surrounded by a round bench. It was in a corner, of course, but had a big glass-block window behind it that let in lots of light. Fox – always a gentleman – slid in first, so the ladies would be able to get out at need. And once they'd all sat down, it was indeed harder for anyone outside to see them.

  A waiter, apparently Chinese, appeared instantly at a snap of the maître d's fingers. Ariela and Mei ordered green tea; Mei said to the waiter, "Sì zhǒng zhēnguì de chá diǎnxīn?"

  The waiter nodded. "Shì de, wǒmen yǒu tāmen. Nín yào pánzi ma?"

  "Shì de, xièxiè." Mei smiled.

  "And the gentleman?"

  "Green tea, as well, thank you, and please bring me some of the fried dough twists."

  "Very good, sir. Anything else? No? I will be right back."

  "If there is anything else we can get for you, please let me know," added the maître d'.

  "Please, sir, come near," urged Ariela. The man moved over closer to her, a quizzical look on his face. "The blessing?"

  His face cleared in understanding. "Your Holiness, I can wait," he protested.

  "No. You did not know what was going on, and frankly we misused you, for which I apologize. Please. I insist."

  He bowed, then, and Ariela lifted her hands to either side of his head. "I bless you in the name of God, I give hope to
your people, and I bring them healing and life," she said, then dropped her right hand and kissed him on the left cheek.

  The maître d' looked like he was going to cry. "Thank you, Your Holiness."

  She smiled, gently. "I will not say it was nothing, because obviously it was something. My friend, be well. And please, do attend to your other customers. We are perfectly at ease here and I am sure your young waiter will provide impeccable service."

  He nodded, smiled, and stepped away.

  "That's just amazing when you do that," observed Mei. "I don't understand what you do, but clearly it has an effect beyond the simple words you say."

  "Well," said Ariela, "I don't understand what you told the waiter, either." She grinned.

  "Oh, that. I asked him if they have the Four Precious Tea Snacks. He said they did, and would I like a plate of them? And I said, yes, thank you." She sat back, looking happy. "This really is a real Chinese tearoom. Thank you for bringing me here, both of you."

  They chatted about inconsequentials, then, until the waiter brought out the tea, Fox's fried dough, and Mei's tea snacks. "These are the Four Precious Tea Snacks," Mei explained. "They are often served with green tea in Southern China. We have the rose crunchy candy, the salty peach slice, the sticky candy, and the chewy cake. These all enhance the flavor of the green tea. Please share them with me, there are plenty to go around."

  "Thanks!" said Ariela. "But first I want one of Fred's doughnuts. It is my prerogative as his girlfriend to try anything he gets. My mother takes the corner off of Dad's chocolate cake at the deli, because that was where the icing is thickest. She says it is her right and privilege as his wife." She grinned at Fox. "I understand Kat does the same thing to Other Dad."

  Fox winced. "I am dating a barbarian. They are not doughnuts. They are fried dough twists." He selected one of them, considered it carefully, and handed it to Ariela. "If I were you, I would break it in half before you try to bite into it, though."

  "Oh?" Ariela took it from him, and broke it in half over her plate.

  A gold ring fell out and clanged on the plate.