by Lyn Gala
John stared at her, poleaxed by his first exposure to pure Ribelian logic. “I’m pretty sure I own my anger.”
Ama gave him a disappointed smile. “No doubt you are too distracted to think about how you feel. But it’s enough that you’ve stopped expressing anger. The rest will come—either in this lifetime or the next. Now, we need to have a word that will unite everyone on this ship.”
“Human?” Tyce suggested.
John ignored her and kept arguing his original point. “We can and will work together to survive, but eventually we will have to sort out the conflicts between our two groups.” John’s words were deliberate and slow. He was going down in flames, and Tyce couldn’t save him. Ama in full-on teacher mode was more amusing when she had chosen someone else as a target. No wonder Yoss had spent so much time hanging out with them when she had first allowed Tyce out of his cell in the Dragon’s brig.
Ama gave John a disappointed look. “You are trying to start a second fight with us instead of focusing on the Imshee. Actually, a third fight because if you can’t identify your own emotions, then you are battling yourself as well.” She whirled around and pointed a finger in Tyce’s direction, “And you have the same streak of willful blindness or you wouldn’t be so amused.”
“Hey! Yoss always laughed at me,” Tyce said in his own defense.
“And Yoss’s enlightenment is a fraction of yours,” she said firmly before she turned back to John. “We don’t know if we will survive or if the owners of this ship will appear and drag us back to their home. We could all get a terrible illness from a virus in the biological systems. The ship could break down and spill our frozen bodies into space.”
Tyce got a flash of indignation at that suggestion. The ship would let them all pass peacefully before allowing them such a terrible end. Either Tyce was hallucinating or the ship was fairly sure she would not rupture, even if entire decks were exposed to space right now.
“We don’t know what the future brings, and we cannot use language that invites the worst. So what would you suggest we call all our people, and please do not suggest ‘human’” She gave Tyce the side-eye.
John looked from Ama to Tyce and back. “Earthlings?” he guessed.
Ama snorted. “Cyrillic Union, Greater States, European Union, China—even people who live on Earth don’t unite under the word Earthling.”
Tyce had never seen it that way, but she had a point. “Could we call ourselves ‘survivors’ until we’ve decided what else we might be?” he suggested.
Ama turned to John. “Does that work for you?”
John frowned. “Um, sure.”
Ama gave a sharp nod before she stepped away and faced the room. She cleared her throat and most of the Dragon crew immediately quieted. It only took a few minutes for the Command soldiers and medical staff to realize that the others were paying attention to Ama. She continued to wait while the room settled into silence. Only then did she speak in a soft voice. “Okay, survivors, we need to start organizing to do what we do best, survive. John and Tyce have come up with a two-part plan—defending this area and annoying the afterlife out of these aliens. Together, we’ll make them regret they drew a weapon on us. All the wounded, medical staff, engineering staff, and technical support, you remain here. Everyone else, we need to move into the hall to discuss assignments and duties where we won’t disturb the wounded. Engineers, if you people start to argue about your damn machines and annoy the medical personnel or wounded, I will personally make your next three lifetimes miserable. Okay, keep quiet and move out.” She headed toward the hall.
John leaned closer. “I thought you were the captain.”
“Yep, but she’s the Ama,” Tyce said. “Do you want to get your people moving?” Dragon crew were already filtering through, the fighters and support people heading into the hallway as directed, all in silence.
John blew out a breath and spoke to the confused Command crew. “You heard her, people. Move out.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
TYCE GLANCED UP FROM his makeshift desk when John came in. “Hey.” He set down his computer.
John leaned against the edge of his door. “Wow. When you said you wanted paper, I wasn’t imagining this.” He made a show of studying the room .
Paper stuck well to the leather of the wall, so Tyce had stuck paper all over one wall. After interviewing every person who had any interaction with the Imshee, he had taken each observation and put it on a different slip so he could rearrange them into patterns. At the academy, people had made fun of John for doing the same thing, but Tyce had quickly seen the advantage in being able to physically walk the room and explore the ideas.
“So what have you figured out?” John asked as he wandered the room .
Tyce leaned back in his chair and sighed. “With one hundred percent certainty? Nothing.”
After picking a relatively paper-free section of wall to lean on, John said, “Okay then tell me what you figured out with eighty percent certainty.”
“I know these guys freeze when they’re confused. Total and complete immobility.” The habit of freezing appeared on at least twelve slips of paper, and in eight of them, Tyce had identified the precipitating event as something unusual. Harris had screamed. Benson had gone into kamikaze mode and run straight at the monster. Liu had fallen down the stairs. The late commander of John’s ship had definitely left the weaker soldiers with John. “Several of your guys believe they are only alive because of it.”
“That’s a tactical issue,” John said, which seemed a rather diplomatic way of putting it.
“Oh yeah. But you know, if they have superior weaponry, I appreciate their inadequate instincts.”
“Wait. Is that why you told the teams to take speakers with them?”
Tyce nodded. “I told them to download the strangest sound that they could out of whatever computer files you guys managed to salvage from your ship. If they get in trouble, they need to blast the aliens with a sound that the Imshee cannot possibly understand. And if they do that, I am eighty percent sure the Imshee will freeze like Antarctic water.”
John smiled, and for a second, silence filled the air. Tyce remembered a time when that silence would have been comfortable, when it would have spoken as loudly as words. Now it was awkward and he wanted to find some words to fill it. John finally said, “I'm glad you're here to help us with this.”
“You might want to see whether my eighty percent is right before you say that.”
John gave him a small smile. “No, I’ll say it now.” He cleared his throat. “So what else did you figure out, other than paper sticks to these walls?” He broke eye contact and focused on Tyce’s rough chart.
Tyce headed over to his second largest collection. He touched a paper, one from a soldier describing how the Imshee had driven its clawed foot right through the chest of a soldier trying to hold position. The idiot had more bravery than common sense, and Tyce hoped she found a happier existence in her next lifetime. Ama would call him an idiot for that prayer because Ama always sent people off with a wish that they find a lifetime where they could learn more. Sometimes people struggled enough that they earned some time happy. Sometimes he wished he could come back as a dog, although that wasn’t likely.
He focused on the wall and the facts laid out on it. “If we entrench our position, the Imshee will become more aggressive over time. Once they think they understand how we fight, they push harder and harder.”
“No offense, but you’re wrong,” John said with confidence.
“I'm not. But the rules change the minute they get anywhere near the engineering level. They don't seem willing to push in when it comes to this level.” Tyce had a small grouping of observations off to the side. He hadn’t seen the pattern at first because he had all the entrenched observations together, but the second he separated them by location, the pattern was obvious.
“No. Not buying it. When you and Plat were gone, the Imshee up here was pushing our defenses. It was
more timid than it had been in our earlier skirmishes, but it was testing us and our resolve to hold this ground.”
Tyce took a step back and carefully leaned back against the crate he was using as a desk. “There's something about this level.”
“Do you think we've got ordnance in an adjacent room or a nuclear energy source?”
That would make sense. If the Imshee knew something volatile was stored on this level, they might want to avoid blowing everyone up. However, Tyce had no actual evidence. “I have no idea. I will say this, they make Anla look sane.”
“That’s distressing.”
Tyce nodded, and then changed the subject. “How's it going with the soldiers?” Hopefully John was having more success. While he was good with people, Command had distrusted him, and that had filtered down into the rank and file.
“We've set people up in four different rooms so everyone has a little bit more space. That should reduce the homicidal tendencies a little. We were getting a little aggressive with each other in that one room.”
“And I'm sure having us show up didn't improve that.” Tyce was impressed John’s soldiers hadn’t protested having rebels in their quarters, but terror and a mutual enemy went a long way toward building bridges. “As long as our two groups don't start shooting at each other, I'll call that a win.”
John’s grin grew wicked. “I'm going to tell Ama that you called us different groups.”
Tyce clutched his chest. “I'm wounded. I thought you liked me.”
“Idiot.” John’s voice was so fond that Tyce would pretend the previous five years hadn’t happened. “But on the good side, she’s confused my soldiers so much that they’re turning to me to protect them from her strange ideas. She might want to consider psychiatric therapy.”
That sounded like Ama. Her views on reincarnation and truth would confuse any Earther. “If you had a psychiatrist on board, she would love it. She thinks talking about feelings unloads the burden of being human and helps the soul move toward the goal of becoming... I don’t know.” He blew out a breath. “The universe? Nothing? God? Ask her a dozen times and you’ll get a dozen answers. And she’ll say all those answers are the same.”
“So she's crazy.”
From anyone else, Tyce would take those as fighting words. Anyone other than Yoss, anyway. He and Yoss had bonded over their mutual avoidance of Ama’s religious lectures. Tyce leaned toward John and held up his fingers “A little.” He then spread his fingers out as far as he could stretch. “But she's a good woman and one hell of a gunner. If she's aiming for you, she’ll kill you. Maybe her skill as a gunner is what makes her so direct when she’s lecturing on morality. She goes straight for the kill shot, and sometimes I need a little more explanation around the edges.”
“It sounds like you've found a family.” John sounded wistful.
Tyce’s guilt made an unscheduled landing. “I did. I'm just sorry that my actions created so much grief for you. If I could have called home, I would've told you to keep your head down.”
“If they had had any proof of contact between us, Command would've thrown me in prison, so I'm glad you didn't.” John’s grimace suggested that more had gone on than he’d admitted. Fuck. Tyce would have pushed, but John turned his back and headed for the door.
“Did you think I had been brainwashed?” Tyce blurted.
When John turned around, the pain had vanished. “Hell, yes. I figured you were too smart to join the losing side and smart enough to know that the breakaway planets would lose. Apparently I overestimated your intelligence.”
Morality had motivated Tyce more than strategy, but he didn’t want to go there. Not now when wounds were still scabbed over and raw. “They’ll lose in the short term,” Tyce admitted. “And that bothers me more than I can say. But on the good side, Ribelians believe that the soul is strengthened when it encounters a new obstacle. They’re looking forward to a long challenge followed by a decisive victory for the colonies. They think that avoiding obstacles is a sign of weakness.”
“Really? I thought it was a sign of sanity.”
“Me too,” Tyce admitted. Working with the Ribelian council was like a room full of Amas on stimulants. And he was almost sure they hadn’t included the other rebel councils because they lied through their teeth to their allies to prevent them from surrendering too soon. Ribelians were religious, but they weren’t always ethical. “And now that the peace treaties have been signed, the colony alliances will fracture. Kunlun and Monroe will do their best to get back in Earth's good graces. They’ll probably start negotiating for military outposts planet-side. That will give them access to Earth officers and a steady money stream.” If Tyce worked for them, that was the advice he’d give them if their goal was economic recovery. He had no idea what Paititi might do. They were an odd group. Brilliant pilots, the best in all humanity, but so odd.
“Ribelo will never truly seek peace, will they?” John asked sadly.
“Oh hell no. They’ll shoot themselves in the foot. Repeatedly,” Tyce said. And he’d given them the gun and the justification to do it. “From a Ribelian point of view, it’s logical.”
A paper was peeling away from the wall, and Tyce pressed it back into place. “Maybe you should start behavior tracking charts for them.”
“I already did. However, if a person believes in reincarnation, it's not about what happens to any individual; it's about ensuring that with each generation, the universe they’re reborn into becomes more fair. It's a kind way of looking at life because they aren't trying to advance one agenda over another. Usually. They have a high percentage of assholes.” Tyce had met more than one who made excuses for all kinds of horrific behavior, saying nothing mattered because all life was a crucible of sorts, and they provided a hotter and more effective flame.
A deep frown line appeared between John’s eyes. “I don't want to sound like a confrontational asshole because I enjoy being on the same side here,” John wiggled a finger between them. “But how does that work when most of the terrorists were Ribelian?”
Tyce blew out a breath. He couldn’t exactly deny the truth. One Paititian had crashed into a commercial spaceport, but all the other mass murderers had come from Ribelo, and they had all worn a tattoo similar to Tyce’s own. Knowing their relationship couldn’t handle more half-truths, Tyce struggled to find the right words. “If we came down with cancer, what would a doctor do?”
John exploded, pacing the room angrily and throwing his hands up. “You cannot make that analogy,” he snapped. “You can't kill people and dismiss murder as nothing more than an excising of damaged tissue. It's a false analogy.” John stopped and whirled around to face Tyce, fury in his eyes. “No, it's a disgusting analogy.”
Holding his hands up in surrender, Tyce said, “I agree with you. But there are a few Ribelians on the fringe who see the world that way. For them, human lives are little more than single cell organisms and the universe is the only body that matters.”
John’s expression twisted with disgust. “It would take a lot of self-hate to buy into that philosophy.”
“I don't know,” Tyce said dryly. “I have self-hate by the ton, and I still think that is an insane way to see the world. However, any religious belief taken to an extreme gets dangerous.”
John scoffed
“I know,” Tyce said softly. Between Earth’s economic policies and Ribelo’s religion, hundreds of thousands of lives had been ripped away. Hell, maybe they’d managed to hit the millions. And Earth had been so determined to reclaim the costs of terraforming, but they’d spent a hundred times more on the damn war. No one got what they claimed to want. It was the definition of insanity.
“And the tattoo?” John whispered the question so softly that Tyce almost missed it.
“When I got it, I vowed to never discuss it with someone who didn’t have one,” Tyce said in a half-truth. “Will you vow to me that if I tell you, you will keep the truth from Command?”
John frowned. “If
it’s tactically important—”
“It’s religiously important,” Tyce said, “And I don’t know if I believe the religion or not, but I respect the people who do.”
“So, if I tell Command, Ama will be out for my hide for disrespecting her religious beliefs?” John scoffed. “It’s not worth it to piss her off. Your secret is safe with me.”
Tyce settled into his chair and for the hundredth time in a half hour, struggled for words. If Ama caught him giving John information on Ribelian tattoos, she would give him shit about his feelings, but just because he had earned the markings didn’t mean he shared all her beliefs.
“It’s not sensitive.” Tyce blew out a breath because that was a lie and he knew it. Command had tried copying the mark on undercover agents, but their lack of understanding of the religious ceremonies attached to the mark outed them pretty quick.
“Tyce,” John said softly, “I won’t tell them.” He had such an earnest expression that Tyce felt guilty about his hesitation.
“If we get back to Earth space, they’ll question your willingness to work with Ribelians,” Tyce warned.
John gave an unexpected bray of laughter. “Your Ama is making sure all the strike teams are mixed so every single one of us will face those questions. And I get the feeling she might have done it on purpose.”
“Probably,” Tyce said. “She does like to play the angles. If there’s an escape route, she’ll find it, and putting emotional barriers between you guys and Earth... that’s classic Ama.” That kind of practicality was the natural result of the damn war, because she wasn’t unique. All the crew in the Dragon’s shuttles were probably trying to find a way to disengage the shuttles so that if they headed back toward human space they could take off and leave those in Command-held areas of the ship to fend for themselves. Tyce even hoped they succeeded.
“So, the tattoo?” John asked.
“It’s a promise.” Tyce didn’t know how else to explain it to someone who didn’t understand the whole religion. No one had offered the mark until after Tyce had shown an interest in learning it and until Ama had decided he was on the path to enlightenment.
