"More than most suspect. I'm de facto number two to Ambassador Kimandre. His sole conduit to the Confederacy and theirs to him. Until they roll up another Speaker."
Nicole shook her head. "I doubt I could handle that kind of pressure. I'm always too tempted to go my own way."
"I wasn't much different. But I've changed."
"I envy you." She paused, buying herself time to gather her thoughts by gazing around the vast concourse. "You see the final report on Morgan's asteroid?" she asked, taking refuge in shop talk.
"Of course. I translated it for Shavrin."
"Of course." There was nothing left. The rock, all the ships within a thousand klick radius, simply vaporized—poof—when Range Guide warped away, leaving no clues as to who, or what, was backing the raiders, other than Lal's reference to some Corporation.
"They were a big outfit; the loss'll be noticed."
"Until the next big outfit takes it place."
"That's why we're here, Red, to help keep the buggers in their place." He glanced at his watch. "Want to head for the boarding lounge?"
"Not particularly. But I suppose we must. Shavrin tells me I'm one of a kind; it'll be years before another Speaker—or a human—achieves my degree of knowledge, and especially comprehension."
"You'll be gone awhile," he agreed, and the years yawned like an abyss between them.
He had a strangely rueful cast to his face and he turned, searching her eyes for the meanings behind her words. "I don't want this to end, Nicole. I know what I said, but we've built something special, you and I. If I go..."
"But you must. There's too much at stake not to."
"Cold solace."
"You have my heart, my love; what more can I offer?"
"Commitment?"
"God, I haven't felt so awkward since I was in junior high, leaving my first serious crush for two months of godawful summer camp. I was eleven. I thought I was going to die."
"What happened?"
"When I got home, everything had changed. We still liked each other, but the ol' va-va-voom had va-va-voom'd right out of our life."
"The wheel turns."
"True. You taught me that, Ben." She thought of a line from one of her Gran's favorite stories, that she delighted in reading to Nicole before bedtime a lifetime ago. "Where did you get so young and me so old, all of a sudden? The Speaker you imprinted must have been a baby?"
"Everything changes. Sometimes, for the better."
He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips, and her heart leapt as she felt the primal electricity as strong and vital as it had been at the start. She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him as close to her as she could in a fierce, passionate embrace that put a fitting coda to all their stumbling words.
They didn't break contact until they had to, at the sound of the PA system's prefix-chime.
"Attention, please," a female voice, close cousin to the one on Lunar Rapitrans, announced, "this is the first call for all personnel assigned to the StarShip Enterprise. Will all personnel please report to Boarding Gate One, for scheduled liftoff at one-eight-zero-zero hours, Lunar Mean Time. Current time is one-seven-zero-zero hours, LMT.
"Marshal Benjamin Ciari and Lieutenant Nicole Shea, please report to Boarding Gate One, immediately."
There was a second chime and the voice began again, in French, "Faites attention, faites attention, mesdames et messieurs..." The litany would be repeated in all the major Terran trading languages, and by then it would be time for the second warning.
A mrrwowling cry stopped them at the door to the VIP lounge. Shavrin, resplendent in formal dress. In the background, Nicole spotted General Canfield in conference with Ambassador Kimandre and two holo-figures she recognized as the President and the Soviet Premier, on a real-time video link from Earth. Her jaw dropped, aghast, at the expense involved in such a set-up.
Shavrin greeted them both, laying a gentle hand on Nicole's breast, over her heart. Ciari listened intently until she paused, then translated: "Shavrin apologizes for not being present during your convalescence and hopes you both understand why that was not possible and forgive the transgression."
"Of course," Nicole tried to say, but Ciari was still speaking.
"She further hopes you, Nicole, comprehend why she did what she did... to me. If words will not suffice—now that her mission has been substantially accomplished—she is prepared to offer her life in atonement. It is called alach'n'yn – blood price."
Nicole was stunned. From the volumes of notes of his debriefings Ciari had sent her, she had an idea of the implications of what he'd just said. Impulsively, she pulled Shavrin to her and held her close, hoping body language might convey what words could not. Shavrin was stiff at first, but then Nicole felt her relax, clawed fingers lightly stroking the young woman's neck. There was a softly rumbling resonance, vaguely akin to a purr, deep within Shavrin's chest that made Nicole feel safe and warm and cherished and tears suddenly stung her eyes, without Nicole knowing quite why. When they disengaged, Shavrin gave her that familiar, quizzical, sideways look and growled at Ciari.
"Have I transgressed?" Nicole asked.
"Quite the contrary."
"Ben, please. Tell Shavrin I could never demand this alach'n'yn of her. It's not for me to demand, even if I wanted it. Which I don't. If I was hurt by her actions, it was indirectly. You were the one who was transformed; if you can understand and accept—and, I don't know, forgive, if that's appropriate—then what right do I have to bear a grudge?"
Ciari smiled. "I always knew you had potential. Nice to see it realized so well." She flushed in pleased surprise. "By the way, Red, that was nice pronunciation."
"I've been working with those language tapes you sent me."
"I'll make more, then. Something to remember me by."
"Don't make fun, not of that."
The Lounge was bustling with dignitaries—all of whom were discretely ogling Shavrin and the others of her Command Staff, while a few spared somewhat less discreet glances at Nicole and Ciari. She was painfully conscious of the prying eyes. It was hard enough being paraded before your fellow officers, but to be the center of attention among total strangers, even for only a few minutes...
"Attention please—this is final call for all personnel assigned to the StarShip Enterprise..."
There was a polite cough behind them, indicating an interruption that could not be denied, Jomo Kimandre of the East African Union, former Secretary-General of the United Nations, now Ambassador Extraordinary of the planet Earth to the Halyan't'a Confederacy.
"Your pardon, Leftenant." He spoke with a faintly cultured English accent, legacy of study at OxBridge and later exile in London. "Marshal, but we must be on our way. Time, tide, and evidently the stars, wait for no one."
"We'll be along, sir," Ciari told him.
"Certainly." He held out a hand to Nicole and she automatically took it. "May I say, Leftenant, how much this world of ours is in your debt. Few know of the service you have done but it is something that will never, I think, be forgotten."
Her ears burned, "It was my duty, sir. No more, no less."
He smiled, the way her father did when he knew the Secret and no one else, and nodded.
"Farewell. I hope, someday, we meet again." He kissed her hand and strode up the transit tunnel leading out to the shuttle craft that would take his party up to the Enterprise, in her parking orbit high overhead. Nicole and Ciari followed at a much slower pace, with Shavrin, hand in hand while she watched. They spoke little.
At the crest of the ramp, Shavrin removed a chain from her neck and placed it around Nicole's. As she did, the young woman had a flash of memory, of the Memorial Service aboard Range Guide and her wild changeling dance with Shavrin. The Halyan't'a Captain had been wearing the chain that night.
" 'Of my house,' " Ciari repeated formally, word for word, " 'art thou become, of my flesh art thou made; thou art to me, as a kit from mine own womb, bearing rights, titles
, honors and assigns as do pertain thereof. Blood hast thou shed on my behalf, blood have we shared to bind our spirits forever.' "
" 'Fare thee well, daughter.' "
And she was gone. Slowly, Nicole released a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. "I'm going to cry again, dammit," she grumbled.
"Good," Ciari said. "I hate solos." And she saw that his eyes were unnaturally bright. They kissed. And he left her. And she knew it was over.
She stood motionless, facing the mural-covered wall as the hatch silently closed, waiting for the jolt that would signify the docking cradle moving out to launch position. Eventually, it came, and, a minute after that, the status board above the reception desk notified all concerned of a successful lift-off.
In her mind's eye, she watched the shuttle climb away from DaVinci, towards its rendezvous with the great, gleaming starship that would soon be taking Shavrin home and Ciari to a magnificent adventure. But then, in Nicole's imagination, the details melted into something else. The shuttle wasn't heading for Enterprise, but Wanderer; and aboard weren't statesmen, pathfinders and Aliens, but two young officers, a quartet of Mission Specialists and their skipper. For Nicole, for those moments, it was over a year ago, when life was cleaner, simpler, happier. So much had happened in so little time; so much had been learned, about others, but mostly about herself. And much of that, she didn't like.
And the most important thing, she realized now, was that she'd hardly learned anything at all.
Her leg ached as she started down the ramp from the Lounge to the Plaza below; the docs said it would ache for a while. Damage that extensive took time and care to heal, and madcap indulgences like the previous night were most assuredly not part of that therapeutic program. So, if she hurt, it was her own damn fault. She didn't care.
The Lounge was almost deserted, but had it been jammed full of people, she still would have felt alone.
"Hi," Hana said shyly, approaching her quietly.
"Hi yourself. Where have you been hiding? I looked for you at the ceremony."
"I was there, but you left like a shot as soon as it was done; and once I caught up to you, I... really didn't want to intrude. Like your new look."
Nicole made a shy, smiling face as a hand went reflexively to her hair. The day after her release from the hospital, she'd trekked over to Andrei's flat outside Gagarin and let him work some wonders. He'd trimmed her hair close on the sides, leaving it fuller on top, clipping it at the collar, without any sort of tail—not quite as extreme a style as Hana's mohawk, but dramatically insouciant in its own way. Nicole had drawn more than her share of glances.
"Thanks. But I didn't have the guts to go all the way."
"You military-types have higher responsibilities."
"And standards, I'm told, with appropriate frowns."
"Any plans?"
Nicole looked around at the Lounge and transit tunnel beyond, her throat suddenly thick with emotion: "Yeah, I want to go," she said. "Because of Ciari?"
"I wish. Be easier to handle." She shook her head. "No, it's that I want to go, Hana! There's a culture out there the likes of which we've never seen! A people, a civilization! And that's only the beginning! There are other races as well! I want to see 'em, I want to learn, I want to go!"
"You think you're ready?"
"You mean, aside from not being able to walk?"
"You know what I mean."
"No. I'm a hero, but I'm not ready. I've been told that, too."
"Such bitterness ill-becomes you, Shea." Both young women reacted to Canfield's appearance. She'd been sitting on one of the meditation benches that ringed the Plaza, almost invisible in the shadows. As they turned, she rose to her feet and stepped out to join them.
"Any fool can be a hero," she continued quietly. "It requires no more than being in the right place at the right time. And that happy confluence has been duly noted by your peers. What it comes down to is that these...." she touched the Solar Cross on Nicole's tunic, "... are won. This..." she tapped the Command Astronaut wings on her own, "...is earned.
"You've made your First Flight, Nicole. And done better than anyone had even a right to expect. You have potential. But also a long, long way to go before that potential is fully realized. Anything less and you're short-changing yourself. Is that what you want?" Nicole shook her head. "It won't be easy. But nothing truly worthwhile is."
Hana was looking at the cenotaph.
"So many names, General, and ours came so close to joining them."
"Perhaps they will yet, Dr. Murai. Ours is a hard profession. But they believed in what they were doing. They had a dream. Much like yours, Nicole. Space is our 'Final Frontier,' the ultimate challenge. To them, the risk was justified, and the price. Think of it, a century ago, we—the human species—were totally earthbound. There's no comparison between what we do today and what we did then. And yet, in essential terms, really nothing has changed. Our ships are better, our knowledge vaster. But at the same time, we've also discovered how infinitely much more there is to learn. Amused, Shea?"
"Serendipity, ma'am. I was thinking something like that myself, not long ago."
"You're heirs to an extraordinary legacy, whose value is expressed in the cheapest, yet most precious, of resources: human lives. Your challenge is to prove yourselves worthy of it."
"You mean us both?" Hana said, her voice lilting upward at the last moment to turn her statement into a question.
"This isn't a closed shop, Doctor. I wear a civilian hat as well. Are you saying your dream isn't the same as Nicole's? That you wouldn't jump at the chance to join the Enterprise mission?"
"How high?" They laughed.
"Patience, both of you. You'll get your chance, I promise. In the meantime, would you care to join me in my quarters for dinner? Dr. Elias will be there, and my Chief of Staff, Colonel Genda, Dr. Zhimyanov and his lover. We'd—I would—like very much to hear the story of your flight from your own lips."
"Thank you, ma'am," Nicole said, "it'll be our pleasure."
"Shall we, then?" And she motioned them towards the Rapitrans station.
Canfield hung back a step to watch them, Nicole trying her best to disguise her hobble and make it appear she could walk normally, while Hana stayed close by, seeming to hesitate—as if nervous about being rebuffed—before slipping her arm through Nicole's. There was a moment of mutual stiffness, then the two women's tension drained from their bodies and Nicole let herself sag ever so lightly against her friend, while Hana took the extra weight with obvious joy. They had both loved and both been torn from that love by duty—only to find, to their surprise, a stronger, truer, more lasting bond. Canfield envied them that, as she did their youth. She had set the stage, done her best to help the Earth take its first hesitant steps into the stars, but they were the ones who would lead the way. What wonders they will see, she thought, what adventures they will have.
She smiled at the romance in that phrase, in her soul. No less now than the morning of her own First Flight, as blue sky beyond her Shuttle's canopy darkened to indigo and she watched with irrepressible delight as the stars came out. She'd been there and back and lived to tell the tale; now, it was their turn.
She stood a last, reverent moment before the cenotaph, and bid farewell to the ghosts with a salute, before following the new generation down the ramp.
The End
First Flight Page 26
