Well, quiet except for the chief counselor’s voice.
“You may have a coup on your hands if you give that ship back to its captain,” he was saying. “Shantu has already left six messages indicating his readiness to board it and study its advanced weaponry, though I suspect he intends ‘study’ as a synonym for ‘strip.’ Parser has called twice about the merchant caste’s rights to the salvage. Eroles wants to know when her people will be allowed on board to examine the structure and materials, and Yaserka demands that everyone else be kept out until his people study absolutely everything, which he estimates will take half a lifetime.”
So the Prime Warrior, Prime Merchant, Prime Builder, and Prime Scholar had all been leaning their weight on Aldirk already. That was two-thirds of the High Council. Micah smiled to himself. He’d been right: only the producer and crafter castes hadn’t staked their claims.
“While I admire the…integrity of your position,” Aldirk continued, “I believe it’s untenable. You will have to pick and choose carefully which castes have access and when, because every decision you make will create an enemy. But the worst decision of all would be to make no allies and an enemy of every caste, especially your own.”
“It seems to me that the worst decision would be to make enemies of the Gaians,” Tal said patiently, and Micah had the feeling she was repeating herself. “That captain made the ultimate ethical choice, which tells us exactly how to engage with her. If we treat her with similar ethics and honor, we can expect her full support. If we act like a pack of pirates, we can expect her equally full resistance. Do you want to see what she and her Protectorate Fleet can do in defense of its property? I for one do not.”
“It is not their property anymore,” Aldirk insisted. “It’s on Alsean soil and abandoned by its crew. If these Gaians are as concerned with legalities and ethics as you say, then they could hardly fault us for a salvage claim.”
Tal rubbed her forehead, a sure sign that she was regrouping and preparing to argue from a different direction. “Aldirk, that ship’s fusion core has hardly even cooled down yet. We don’t need to be worrying about establishing property and caste rights just now. And has it occurred to any of those High Council grainbirds that most of what they might find on board won’t come with an instruction manual? Even if it did, it would be in an alien language. We would get far more benefit far more quickly if we convince the Gaians to cooperate with us.”
“What are the chances of that?”
“Pretty good, I’d say.” Micah settled into the guest chair next to Aldirk. “Lancer Tal has established an excellent working relationship already.”
Aldirk sniffed. “Based no doubt on their gratitude that she somehow kept twenty trigger-happy Guards from murdering them.”
“Would those be the twenty warriors who courageously stood between an unknown threat and the rest of Alsea, including its chief counselor?” Micah pretended to pick a piece of lint off his trousers. “What were you doing at that time, Aldirk? Oh yes, sweeping glass. An excellent job for a scholar.”
“Not quite, though I was directing the effort to source enough glass to repair this city. Rest assured I have your personal quarters right here at the very bottom of my priority list.” Aldirk tapped his reader card for emphasis.
Tal was smiling as she watched them. “I do hope my personal quarters are somewhat higher on that list?”
“Of course, Lancer Tal.”
It was interesting, Micah thought, how Aldirk’s voice never entirely lost its edge even when he spoke to Tal. Sometimes he wondered if Aldirk really did think that all of Alsea was beneath him, with Tal being higher than the rest, yet still sadly lacking. He’d mentioned that to Tal once, when they were relaxing in his quarters over a game of tiles and a bottle of spirits. She’d laughed and said he was probably right, but that didn’t change the fact that Aldirk was the best Alsean for the job. Besides, if he thought of her as higher than the rest, that was good enough for her.
“Speaking of glass,” Tal said, “I had an interesting exchange with Captain Serrado just before we arrived at the healing center. When she realized how much damage her ship’s passage had done, she offered to help—by creating the materials.”
Micah forgot all about irritating Aldirk. “Creating them? How?”
“Yes, I find it difficult to believe they carry a glass factory aboard,” Aldirk said. “They must know an entirely different—and portable—way to manufacture it.”
“That was my first thought as well, but the reaction of Lhyn Rivers made me think again. She was very surprised—no, shocked would be a better word—that her captain had revealed this. She said something about a full debriefing, which made me think there had been some prior conversation about how much of their knowledge and technology to share with us. I don’t believe that exchange was about glass.”
“It was about the creation process in general.” Aldirk had the look of a starving fanten whose feeding chute had just been opened. “I’d bet a moon’s pay they have a means of creating much more than glass. It would make sense, for a ship that flew among stars. Repair and restocking stations must be few and far between.”
“They also have fusion reactors, faster-than-light engines, and ladders that appear out of nothing,” Micah pointed out. “And those are just the things we know about. That ship probably contains technologies we can’t even imagine, so why wouldn’t they be able to create anything they wanted out of thin air?”
Aldirk sniffed again. “It cannot be thin air, Colonel. The laws of physics don’t change, even for highly advanced aliens. There must be some source material.”
“Yes,” said Tal, “but what if they’ve figured out a way to use a generalized source material? Something that could be transformed into whatever they want, the way embryonic cells can become any tissue or organ?”
The room went silent as they all considered the ramifications.
“That would truly change the world,” Aldirk said at last. “And it is sitting on our very doorstep.”
“It is, but Shantu and his ilk would trample it in their eagerness to find what they want to see, rather than what is actually there. We cannot allow it, Aldirk. I need your help to hold them back. Delay them, until we can prove that there’s more to be gained by making allies of the Gaians than by claiming their ship as salvage.”
Aldirk nodded slowly. “Now this is an argument I can work with. And I agree with you. But it’s a fine line to walk, and you’re risking your title on it.”
“If the Voloth return in a nineday and the Protectorate forces don’t arrive in time, or decide not to defend us, my title will be worth less than nothing. Better to risk it now and gather every tool, every weapon, every bit of knowledge we can to protect ourselves, than to play the politics game and lose our whole world.”
She was leaning slightly over the desk now, her intensity drawing them both in, and not for the first time Micah marveled at her ability to somehow turn that on. When she wanted to, Andira Tal could convince a Mariner that salt water was drinkable.
More importantly, she could convince Chief Counselor Aldirk to move stars and soil to support her position.
“Then we need a legal framework,” Aldirk said, “to keep the castes off your back and give you time.”
“Exactly. Which is why a word from you to the legal scholars will help smooth my path through this meeting. If they hear it first from a scholar, rather than a warrior, their ears will be more open.”
Aldirk activated his reader card. “That doesn’t give me much time. But I will do my best, Lancer Tal.”
“You always do. Thank you.”
The chief counselor rose and, with a courteous farewell to Tal and a bare nod to Micah, left them alone in the office.
Tal blew out a breath. “That took more convincing than I expected. Aldirk sometimes forgets that politics is not the lifeblood of our world.”
“It’s the lifeblood of his world,” Micah said. “He doesn’t think any other exists
.”
She nodded, but he could see from her expression that she was far away at the moment. Crossing his arms over his chest, he relaxed into the chair and waited for her to return.
“When I woke up after my rest, I thought for a moment it had all been a dream.” Her eyes met his, and she gave him a slight smile. “But then I remembered. Aliens have landed on our planet, and instead of learning everything I can about them, and engaging in the greatest cultural exchange in the history of Alsea, I’m spending the day talking to legal scholars and fending off political demands. That’s how I knew it wasn’t a dream.”
“A dreamer will never be Lancer.”
“I know, but wouldn’t it be nice if a Lancer could dream once in a while?” She glanced at her wristcom and sighed. “Half a hantick for Aldirk to work his miracle before my next meeting starts. That gives me just enough time to shove a midmeal down my throat. Join me?”
“Gladly,” he said. “Your quarters or mine?”
She waved a hand at the construction sheeting already covering her office windows. “Well, since yours are at the bottom of Aldirk’s priority list, I suggest mine. At least there we won’t have the afternoon breeze blowing everything off the table.”
Chapter 17
Comfortably trapped
Captain Ekatya Serrado was bored.
She had visited all of her crew and seen for herself that they were in capable hands. More than capable, actually—the level of healing already apparent was shocking. Lieutenant Hmongyon had even been upgraded from critical to stable and was already awake. Given her injuries, Ekatya could hardly credit such a speedy recovery, but she couldn’t deny the evidence in front of her.
Reassured, she had submitted herself to the tender mercies of the Alsean healers, which had included a literal laying on of hands when one of the healers had rested her hand on the broken leg, closed her eyes, and stood there unmoving for at least five minutes. Ekatya had felt a wildly inappropriate urge to laugh. This was much too close to the vids she’d seen of faith healers, swearing that they could channel the healing energies of their Seeder gods. But the Alsean hadn’t done any of the usual theatrics—no chanting, no swaying, nothing to draw any attention. Instead she just stood there. When she was done, she lifted her hand, smiled at Ekatya, and left the room.
The remaining healers had bound her leg in some sort of hard case and informed her that she wouldn’t be moving off her bed until the case came off that evening. She did at least manage the concession of a shower, which had embarrassingly involved an assistant healer to help her, but at that point she was so desperate to get clean that she just closed her eyes and imagined it was Lhyn’s hands on her body instead. It worked rather too well, as she discovered when she opened her eyes and saw the knowing smile on the assistant’s face.
That had been several hours ago. She’d been trapped in this bed ever since: clean, comfortable, and dressed in fresh loaner clothing, but still trapped. She couldn’t work. She couldn’t read. She had no way of communicating with her evacuated crew or Lhyn’s ship, and communicating with the Alseans wasn’t much easier. They answered any questions she had about medical issues, but clammed up when she asked about anything else. At times she wondered what good it was having the only translator in town when there apparently weren’t any Alseans she could talk to.
The one person she really wanted to talk to was still asleep after her own turn with the surgery team. It turned out that Lhyn’s arm had been a much more difficult repair than Ekatya’s leg, necessitating sedation and thus a longer recovery from the operation.
So she waited, looking up at the ceiling and reflecting on the irony of being bored after the last few days she’d had. A sane person would be grateful for the peace and safety, not to mention the cushy bed. But as Lhyn had once said, sane people didn’t make good Fleet captains.
The monotony was interrupted when an assistant healer brought in a gently steaming cup of something that looked like tea. “It’s shannel,” he said. “Healer Wellernal said you can drink it now.”
“Why wouldn’t I have been able to before?” She sniffed the cup, which smelled a bit like nutmeg and oranges with a darker, richer note that she couldn’t identify. Then she took a cautious sip and felt the fire burn all the way down to her stomach. “Whoa.”
“That’s why,” the assistant said, clearly enjoying her reaction. “It’s good for you, but rather powerful.”
“It’s good for me? That’s a first. Usually when I like something, I’m not supposed to have it.” She looked more closely at the brown liquid. “Is this alcoholic?”
His smile widened. “No, we don’t serve spirits to our patients. But shannel opens up the blood channels, clears the mind, and makes you more alert. It’s also something of a global addiction. We’d probably have a riot on our hands if we didn’t allow it.”
She seized the opportunity to grill him about how it was made, where the leaves were grown, and anything else she could think of, but his duties called him away and she was left alone again. All too soon she finished her cup and gazed sadly at the bottom, wondering if using her finger to get the last drop would look too desperate.
Who cared? There was no one to see. She licked her finger and decided that if the Protectorate ever saw fit to sign a trade treaty with the Alseans, she’d make sure this was on the top of the list.
She was contemplating taking apart the small vidcom unit beside her bed just to see what Alsean manufacturing looked like when a light tap sounded at her door.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened partway, but no one entered. “I’m told the great Protectorate captain is in this room; is that correct?”
Ekatya pushed herself upright at the sound of that voice. “Yes, it is. Did you wish to speak with her? I can see about getting you an appointment.”
The door opened fully, revealing Lhyn in Alsean hospital clothing, her arm in a hard case matching Ekatya’s. “Oh, I don’t think I need an appointment.” She stepped in, closed the door behind her, and added, “For me, the captain has an open-door policy.”
“Yes, she does. And she’s been waiting for you for hours.”
“Sorry I’m late.” Lhyn crossed the room and leaned over to wrap her good arm around Ekatya’s back.
Ekatya pulled her into a tighter embrace and held on, reveling in her clean scent and the warmth of her skin. “Finally,” she whispered. “I’ve wanted this since I gave the order to evacuate.”
“You mean a quick snuggle in the transport bathroom wasn’t good enough for you?”
“Not even close.”
Lhyn shifted away and looked into her eyes. “I’ve wanted it since you went on duty and left me in your quarters. One night was not enough.”
“After ten months? One night was like giving a starving woman a single raisin. It tasted fantastic, but now I’m more famished than before.”
Lhyn’s smile was more than she could resist, and she pulled her back for a kiss that made up for some of those hours of waiting. But only some.
When they finally separated, Lhyn rested their foreheads together. “Aren’t you afraid someone might come in?”
“If any of my crew come by, they’ll knock. And any Alseans will know exactly what we’re doing and probably run in the other direction.”
Lhyn chuckled. “Don’t count on that. They have a rather open culture when it comes to sex.”
“The things you get to study.” Ekatya ran a hand down the smooth braid now binding Lhyn’s dark hair. It made the light streaks stand out in an arresting pattern. “Don’t tell me you did this one-handed.”
“That would take a magic wand. No, one of the assistant healers had her hair like this, so I asked if she could do mine. It’s a little different from my usual. But what a relief to get it out of my eyes.”
“You could always cut it short, like Candini.”
“Candini can get away with it. I can’t. And would you really want that?”
“Not
ever.”
With a knowing smile, Lhyn gave her one more kiss and then pulled over the nearest chair. “I still can’t believe we’re here, on Alsea. So many times I’ve wished I could hop in a shuttle and come down to see it for myself. I used to dream about it.”
“And then it turned out that all you had to do was stow away on my ship while I ditched it.” Ekatya saw the apology forming and held up her hand. “No, you don’t need to. I’m over it, really.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Just, please don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I’ll make that promise if you make it too.”
Ekatya opened her mouth to say I can’t, I’m a Fleet captain, but saw the look on Lhyn’s face and closed it again. “I get your point. But I do have to ask you something else. Why didn’t you tell me about their empathy? I was blindsided.”
Lhyn’s lips tightened as she broke their eye contact. “I’m sorry. In hindsight I should have. But…I didn’t know. It was just a theory.”
“You’ve told me theories before.”
That brought her head around again. “I’ve told you reasonable theories before. Theories that wouldn’t destroy my reputation if they were proven false. Can you imagine the ridicule? ‘Dr. Rivers saw some things she couldn’t explain, so she decided the Alseans are empathic.’ They would have laughed me right out of the next Consortium meeting and never taken me seriously again. I didn’t talk about this with anyone except a few members of my team, and then only because it was obvious that they were coming to the same conclusion.”
Ekatya could understand that; after all, her career also depended on the reputation she’d built. “But surely you didn’t think I’d laugh at you?”
“It wouldn’t have been the first time.”
“That’s not fair. You can’t compare this to the time you lectured me for forty-five minutes on the historical and political implications of male nipple piercings in the Gondurai culture. I really didn’t think nipples could be that important.”
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